


Crazy Stupid Love

by Castiel_For_King



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Bottom!Cas, Destiel - Freeform, Emotionally Constipated Dean, First Time, M/M, Slow Build, Wingfic, Wings, angel habits, story telling, top!dean, virgin!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:24:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_For_King/pseuds/Castiel_For_King
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is struggling with the onset of human emotions brought on by the fact that he spends so much time in the company of humans.  Shockingly, it is Dean that helps him through it...until Cas confesses something that sends Dean running behind emotional walls.  But after a run in with a necromancer, the trio decides a little R&R in Rufus's cabin will do them some good.  </p><p>In which Dean and Cas spend a lot of time getting to know each other in front of the fire place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Man it's been ages since I posted anything. Let me know what you think of the first half of this two part story!

They were in...it didn't even matter where they were because, quite frankly, Castiel had more important things to fill his brain with than the name of some backwater stink-hole of a town he was stuck in this week with the two overgrown, codependent _children_ that were his companions. And as far as he was concerned right now, if you've seen one small town, you've seen them all and while Castiel was usually one to stop and smell the flowers so to say – he always enjoyed taking the time to appreciate the beauty of all his father's creations - there was no beauty that he could see in the peeling paper or the mould spot in the corner of the ceiling or the likely unwashed bed that was so hard he felt like he was lying directly on planks of wood.

 

The angel forced himself to haul a breath through his nose, it took a great deal of effort to rip his train of thought from it's depressing trajectory and redirect it, and close his eyes.

 

Just as he brought his breathing, and his annoyance, under control, the very source of his disgruntled thoughts barged loudly through the door like the moose he always accused his brother of being.

 

“Hey, Cas...you sleeping?” The hunter asked, a curious twist to his mouth as he blindly dumped the two plastic bags of food on the table.

 

The question caused Sam to halt in the doorway and throw him a strange look as well, a white plastic bag swinging in his hand.

 

Cas resisted the urge to roll his eyes, barely, and sat up. “Of course I'm not sleeping.” It was a bit snappy even to his ears and he forced his voice to come out more gently, “Angels don't-”

 

“-require sleep.” Dean finished for him, his tone flat and a little mocking.

 

“Or food.” Sam added, his tone mimicking his brother's.

 

“We know.” They coursed together while sharing a smirk.

 

Only then did it occur to Castiel that they were making fun of him somehow and his annoyance returned. “Then why did you ask me if I was sleeping when you already knew the answer?”

 

The brothers shared another look and Sam started digging through their bags of disgusting smelling take out food while the elder of the two pulled three beers from the fridge, but both of them remained infuriatingly silent.

 

He watched them through narrowed eyes. Sam's large hands enveloped the small cardboard containers, already stained through in spots with grease, like they were doll toys, opening the lids to briefly check what was inside and then separating them in to his and Dean's. Meanwhile, the other hunter was over at the counter, grumbling and cursing as he tried to work the shitty motel bottle opener he'd found in one of the drawers, pausing every now and then to scratch flakes of rust off the instrument.

 

He tore his eyes away from both of them, unreasonably and irrationally irritated by the small sounds of their movements; but as soon as he removed the distraction of their presence and noises, he suddenly became aware of just how hot and oppressive the air in the room was and he pushed a desperate sigh past his lips, stripping off his trench coat.

 

It seemed as if it was not one thing bothering him it was another and he smothered a growl in his throat before it passed his lips, thinking of how he'd never been bothered by such human inconveniences before he met Dean.

 

 _Dean_.

 

He tugged at his tie, feeling like the warm air was struggling to get past his constricted throat.

 

“Cas?”

 

The strip of blue silk slipped from his fingers, where it coiled on top of the coat on the dirty floor, and he expanded his lungs, wondering why his head felt so fuzzy. Absently, he let his face fall into his hands and gripped at his hair tightly, trying to focus on the sting of it rather than the heaviness of the air that was refusing to enter his lungs.

 

“Cas...hey.”

 

He felt Dean's strong hand squeezing his shoulder and the feel of it through his thin shirt was like sandpaper on his skin and he jerked away from the touch.

 

The hunter pulled his hand back hastily with a shocked look, like Cas had slapped him, before his face crumpled into a frown of confusion and worry.

 

“You ok?” He asked after a second.

 

“I'm fine!” This time he didn't bother to keep the harshness from his voice and out of the corner of his eye he saw the brothers share a look and Sam shrugged. He immediately felt bad and decided to attempt to elaborate, even if he had to strain his words through clenched teeth. “It is very warm in here and I...feel like I can't breath.”

 

He had hoped the admission of it would someone boost his muddled mind into realizing that what he was feeling shouldn't actually be possible, but acknowledging it out loud only seemed to allow the deception of the human sensations to root themselves more firmly within the perception of his surroundings.

 

Speaking of which, was the room getting smaller or was it just him?

 

“Well, why don't we just step outside for a minute, huh? You probably just need some air.” Sam suggested. “You're not really used to being cooped up in the car and small motel rooms for so long.”

 

“Yeah, come one.” Dean agreed, gesturing for the angel to follow him out the door and into the sun drenched parking lot.

 

How ironic it was that Dean was trying to help him feel better when _Dean_ was the very source of his predicament in the first place. Or at least Cas was fairly sure he was; to be fair, he'd been stubbornly ignoring the logical part of his brain that was telling him he should probably look into these things he'd been feeling but, to be quite honest, he was a little apprehensive of what he might find should he go poking around in such dangerous places.

 

Once they were outside, the sun beat down on him but the gentle breeze blowing past was enough to leave his skin feeling cool and the air seemed to get past his constricted throat a little easier out here in the openness of the parking lot.

 

“So you wanna tell me what's got your feathers in a knot?” Dean asked after a few blissful seconds of silence had gone by.

 

He tried not to scowl. “No.”

 

The stunned silence lightened his mood a little, enjoying the small victory of getting Dean Winchester to shut his beautiful mouth for a few seconds.

 

He blinked, realizing what he'd just thought. _Dammit_.

 

“But there _is_ something bothering you.” Confirmed the hunter.

 

He refused to answer, instead spotting a fat little bee struggling to collect pollen from a dandelion. The thin stem had given out under the weight of the insect and the bee was now trying to cling upside down on the head of the flower but his back end kept slipping and he dangled there, indignation rolling off him in waves to the point where Cas couldn't help the small twitch of his lips.

 

He took the few steps over to the small flower and crouched down. He hovered his hand over the plant and closed his eyes, channelling his grace into the tiny flower and mending the weak fibres in the stem and strengthening them until they could support the weight of ten bees, should such an occasion arise.

 

When he straightened, the bee had already finished gathering the pollen and hovered around his ankles curiously before flying away.

 

With the fuzzy creature's departure went Castiel's distraction and he was once again forced to acknowledge the tight feeling in his chest. So, steeling himself, he turned back to face Dean and was a little surprised by the intensely concerned look on the hunter's face.

 

“What's wrong?” He took a few steps closer to the man.

 

“You, uh...” Dean cleared his throat and seemed unsure of what to do with his hands. “You watching the bees again?”

 

If Dean hadn't looked so apprehensive of his answer, Castiel might have laughed. As it was, he felt the corner of his mouth pull up with mild amusement.

 

“I'm not going crazy, Dean.”

 

Strangely, his words seemed to do little to ease the hunter's tense posture and he merely licked his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

“It's just...you've been acting kind of weird lately.” A nervous laugh wobbled past his full lips. “I guess, what I'm trying to say is you can, you know...talk to me. If you need to.” He roughly cleared his throat. “Might help.”

 

Some of the tightness in his chest eased back as he watched Dean shuffled his feet and bite his lip nervously and bless his soul, he was trying to help, so he decided to indulge him. After all, it was the least he could do, since he'd likely been terrible company the last couple weeks – he doubted being stuck in a car for hours on end with a surly angel was the brothers' idea of a good time – and perhaps it _would_ make him feel better.

 

He decided to start with an apology, “I'm sorry. I know I haven't been good company lately, despite my efforts to...control it.” He grimaced, realizing it was going to be difficult to talk about what was bothering him without letting something important slip.

 

“Control what?”

 

He suddenly regretted admitting there was a problem at all and the annoyance was back. “I've been struggling with...” The words died on his tongue but he tried again to come up with something that made sense. “...human emotions.”

 

He blinked. Well that hadn't been too difficult to say. Perhaps he was over thinking things again.

 

“Ok...” Dean drug out the word, looking a little less tense. “Like what kinds of emotions?”

 

“All of them!”

 

Cas blinked, startled by the volume of his own voice. He hadn't intended to shout and anger coiled in his stomach. “You see! I didn't mean to do that!” Dean looked mildly uneasy, a hand held up before him as if he thought the angel might suddenly lunge at him, and for some reason this only served to make him feel angrier. “I shouldn't be feeling these things, Dean! I am an angel. I am a _soldier_. We are not programmed to feel emotions-”

 

The hunter's strong hands were suddenly on his shoulders and squeezing tight, “Cas, _breathe_ , man.”

 

Castiel wanted to say that Dean touching him pretty much made breathing impossible for a few seconds but ruthlessly tore the very thought itself to shreds, letting his anger with himself burn through him and purge his body of any other feeling. Anger was familiar; anger he could deal with. He _knew_ anger.

 

He pushed Dean's hands off his shoulders and snarled. “I don't need to do that either!”

 

The hunter took a few steps back and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “You're really starting to freak me out, ok, just...just calm down.”

 

Calm down. That was easy for him to say. “You've been dealing with emotions for your entire life, Dean, I've only known what it means to feel like this for three months – I don't know _how_ to calm down!” The anger was ebbing away and in it's place something else was clawing it's way to the surface, something cold and dark. “I...this isn't right...I shouldn't be able to...”

 

“Cas, _stop_.” Dean's hands were on his shoulders again. “Look at me.”

 

He did, raising his eyes from the ground to stare into Dean's ridiculously green ones. He had that look of determination on his face, any unease in the face of Castiel's outburst vanished.

 

“You've gotta stop thinking of yourself as a number, man. You should know more than anyone that _nothing_ is written in stone.”

 

Dean's fingers dug into his shoulders and Cas was grateful for the slight pain it caused. He focused on it, let everything else go, and tried to pay attention to what the hunter was saying.

 

“There's nothing wrong with...feeling.”

 

The absurdity of hearing that sentence come from Dean Winchester's mouth had Cas pursing his lips to keep from grinning, the sudden amusement mixing strangely with the lingering coldness of whatever had been clawing it's way up his throat a moment ago.

 

“Shut up.” Dean grumbled, fingers loosening and sliding off his shoulders. “All I'm saying is that just because one of your dick brothers told you angels aren't made to feel emotions doesn't mean it can't happen. You're an individual, Cas, not some robot with a product number stamped on his ass.” He scratched the back of his head, “Not to mention you've been spending a lot of time with me and Sam. Maybe we're rubbing off on you.”

 

Castiel merely stared at him, feeling surprisingly more balanced and incredibly glad that whatever had been clawing it's way up his throat seemed to have gone away.

 

“So you don't feel any different physically, right?” Dean suddenly asked.

 

Heat flared in his face and he blinked rapidly, caught off guard and unsure of what to say. That cold feeling was back, sweeping through his gut like icy water and for a brief moment Castiel began to worry that somehow Dean _knew_.

 

“How do you mean?” He stammered.

 

The hunter looked confused, “Like are your batteries drained or anything?”

 

Relief flooded through him and he released the breath he'd been holding. “No. No my grace is strong.”

 

Suddenly Dean grinned and clapped him on the arm, “See? People change. They grow. There's nothing wrong with you.”

 

With no evidence to disprove what Dean was saying, Castiel made the decision to believe he was right. Until something else came along to prove him wrong, that is. Still, knowing there might not be anything wrong with him, other than the absurd amount of time he'd been spending with the brothers, only eased his discomfort a little. He was still left with the daunting task of identifying these new feelings and dealing with them so that they didn't cause him any problems.

 

If someone as emotionally stunted as Dean could deal with it then Castiel certainly could learn.

 

“It is just overwhelming.” He tried to explain. “They come out of nowhere and sometimes they are very...intense.”

 

Dean spotted a picnic table sitting under the shade of a tree on the tiny amount of grass beside the motel and motioned for Cas to follow. They sat down and Castiel was momentarily distracted by another bee as it landed on the weathered wood of the table and ambled towards him.

 

He smiled, putting out his finger for it to crawl on to and then lifted it closer to his face to watch it's antennas twitch curiously.

 

“Cas.” The hunter's deadpan voice made him look up.

 

“I'm listening.” He focused back on the bee and smirked when he heard Dean sigh with mild annoyance.

 

“Fine. I want you to give me an example of something you feel that you don't understand and I'll try and explain it a little better for you.”

 

He floundered for a moment, the bee forgotten as it clambered over his knuckles. How was he meant to separate one emotion from the other? Often he felt like he was at the centre of a giant melting pot and everything was mixing together. There was no way he'd be able to isolate just _one_ feeling.

 

The turmoil must have shown on his face for Dean rephrased the question.

 

“Ok, tell me what your body was doing. Like when you're nervous people say it feels like there are butterflies in your chest or if you're sad you might feel really tired or even sick.” The hunter explained patiently.

 

“I feel cold sometimes.” Castiel said at once, understanding now what Dean was asking him to try and explain, and he thought first of that disconcerting chill that had swept through him only a few moments ago. “Inside. Like I've swallowed ice.” He grimaced, feeling the ghost of the very sensation he was describing. “But then it gets worse and it feels like claws in my throat and I can't breath.”

 

Dean was nodding, hands clasped before him on the table. “Ok. So does that sort of feeling usually only happen when your thinking about shitty stuff?” He asked.

 

He thought back to the few times he's felt that terrible sensation and realized that Dean was right.

 

“Yes.” He said with a frown.

 

“That's anxiety.” Dean's mouth was half twisted in a sympathetic grin. “It's probably one of the shittiest feelings there is. Sometimes it goes away really quickly, other times it sticks around for fucking ever. Sometimes there's a reason for it and sometimes it just pops up out of the blue.” He shifted in his sheet and looked down at his hands, “In our line of work it's something you get used to.”

 

“I don't like it.” Castiel mumbled at once.

 

“No one likes it.” Countered Dean immediately

 

When Cas looked back up he was smirking and realized Dean was quoting what they'd said to each other when they'd met the cupid and he smiled.

 

The sun was beginning to sink towards the tree tops and the sky was turning orange as the day came to an end. The shift in temperature was subtle but Castiel could feel it plainly and could see the bees flying sluggishly from flower to flower now.

 

A small child on the other side of the parking lot shrieked loudly as her brother chased her around their parents' car and around the corner of the building out of sight.

 

A stray cat caught his eye and he smiled. He liked cats. This one was orange with golden eyes and a nick in his ear from a fight. He sniffed curiously at the large bins by the curb but moved on quickly, either deeming it a lost cause or just not hungry enough to dig for scraps, and disappeared into a patch of long grass off the side of the road.

 

When he looked back to Dean, he was surprised to find the man already staring at him, one corner of his mouth twisted up slightly and his green eyes softer looking then he'd seen them in a long time. He remained quiet, unwilling to do anything to disrupt the rare content on the hunter's face.

 

He own eyes went, as they often did whenever they got the chance, to the dusting of freckles that fell in a band across the hunter's nose. But when Dean huffed a small laugh, he looked back up into green eyes, delighted to note that they were shinning with good humour.

 

He felt a smile tug at his lips. “What's so funny?” He asked, genuinely curious. Dean smiled so rarely these days.

 

But the hunter merely shook his head, smile still in place as he looked back down at his hands. “It's nothing. You're just...” He trailed off, seemingly unable to come up with the words he needed to communicate, but then, “I like having you around, is all.”

 

He felt a new sensation then, one that was, thankfully, not unpleasant. It felt warm and comforting and it swelled in his chest like a rising tide and he felt oddly...light. He grinned and looked away, feeling the warmth rise all the way up to his face.

 

“You're blushing!” Dean chuckled, smile nearly splitting his face.

 

“Am I?” He blinked and pressed his fingers to his cheek, stunned to feel that the warmth wasn't just a sensation but something that had manifested itself physically. “Hm.”

 

Dean was still smiling. “So what are you feeling now?”

 

He turned his focus inward. “Warm and light...like when I'm flying.” He looked skyward to the now pinkish clouds as they rolled by and flexed his wings longingly; the warmth in his chest vanished, crushed to dust in a sudden vice.

 

He sighed and looked back down. “You're blushing now.” He observed.

 

Dean's head snapped up and he stared at the angel with wide eyes. “No I'm not!”

 

Cas rubbed at the ache in his chest distractedly. “Yes. You are.” Though he didn't particularly care right now why he might be, his attention fully turned on the desire to stretch his wings and fly. It had been _so_ long.

 

“You ok?”

 

He grimaced. “It aches now. Here.” He slid his hand over his heart and looked skyward again, seeing Dean follow his gaze. “It has been a long time since I have had the chance to fly.”

 

A small sigh, barely audible, passed the hunters lips and he looked down again to see a look of intense relief flood Dean features. For a moment Castiel was confused until he realized what Dean must have thought he meant when he looked skyward and told him his heart was aching.

 

“I am not thinking of returning to heaven, Dean.” He clarified. He wanted to make sure there were no doubt in the hunter's mind. “I _want_ to stay here with you and Sam.”

 

The other man huffed a nervous laugh. “I know, Cas.” He cleared his throat. “So why don't you fly then?”

 

“Manifesting my wings into this plane of existence takes a great deal of energy. So much, in fact, that I don't have enough to send them back for a while and walking around with wings draws a bit more attention then I desire, especially since, as a manifestation of my grace, an injury to them would be...bad.” He glanced over to the impala. “It would also make riding in the car impossible.”

 

Dean snorted a laugh. “Sorry.” He said at once, “I just got a mental image of someone driving by us on the road and seeing nothing but feathers pushing up against all the windows.”

 

He felt mirth bubble up from deep in his belly and allowed it to escape in a chuckle as he envisioned the scenario also.

 

“Well,” Dean said, standing up from the table. “We should probably go to the bar. I promised Sam I'd buy a round of beer if he found a less disgusting way to kill that stupid wendigo crossbreed. Should of known better than to make a bet with him that involved researching.”

 

Castiel followed the hunter back to their room, feeling better than he had in weeks and it was all because he'd simply talked about what was bothering him. It was a strange concept that he still didn't really understand the mechanics of; though he didn't need to understand why it worked to appreciate that it did.

 

He decided not to think about it anymore, simply willing to be glad that he wasn't being crushed under the weight of these knew sensations and knowing that he had Dean to help him should it become overwhelming again.

 

Dean merely stuck his head in the door and yelled at Sam, who was apparently in the shower, to hurry up and meet them at the hotel bar when he was done and then the two of them walked the short distance across the parking lot and through the lobby, taking a seat across from each other in a booth.

 

A handsome man with dark hair and even darker eyes brought them menus almost immediately and if Castiel was honest with himself, his eyes may have lingered a bit too long on the sharp angle of the man's stubble jaw line than was socially acceptable.

 

As it happened, the waiter's eyes seemed to linger on him a little longer than was likely socially acceptable as well and his gaze was drawn downward when the man flashed him a smile, revealing straight white teeth.

 

“Just wave when you're ready to order.” He said, speaking to Cas as if he was the only one at the table.

 

“I will.” He returned the man's confident smile with a tentative one of his own and the waiter beamed before leaving.

 

The sway of the man's hips as he walked away caught his eye and he gave his backside a once over, finding that he liked the particular way his tight black dress pants hugged the skin of his-

 

He jerked in his seat when he realized the direction in which his thoughts were headed and he shook his head slightly as if to shake the thoughts loose.

 

He grabbed the drinks menu and opened it clumsily, desperate to have something else to put his eyes on to help him ignore the intense urge to seek out the waiter again. He glanced briefly up at Dean over the top of his menu and did a double take the the look on his face.

 

At first glance, it looked like something stuck between murderous intent, seething rage and a sprinkle of amusement. But upon reflection, Castiel assumed he was misreading the situation because he was relatively sure feeling those three things at once was impossible.

 

“Can you believe that guy?” Dean snarled, eyes flicking darkly over to where the waiter was leaning against the bar and talking to the tender. “Sleazy jerk.”

 

Castiel blinked. “He seemed very friendly to me.”

 

The hunter's face fell into a look of exasperation. “He was pretending to be nice 'cause he wants to get in your pants, Cas.”

 

He blinked again and then looked back over to the waiter and was mildly surprised to see the man already looking at him. When their eyes met, he was flashed another smile and a wink this time and he quickly looked back down at the menu, heat rising in his cheeks. Again.

 

“Cas!” Dean snapped accusingly. “I'm telling you, that guy is trouble. Just...stay away from him.” He tapped his finger against the angel's menu. “Come on, pick a drink.”

 

He wasn't entirely sure why Dean seemed put off by the waiter. After all, he'd watched Dean flash that same smile at plenty of women before. Why was it ok for him to do it and not the waiter? He decided to ignore it all, he'd had lots of practise with that when it came to Dean as the man frequently did strange things that he didn't understand. He briefly contemplated asking him to explain himself but somehow felt that would not go over well.

 

He wondered if intuition was another human trait he was picking up or if he was just getting better at deciding which questions would and would not upset the touchy hunter.

 

“I don't know what any of these are.” He grumbled at last, eyes sweeping over another arbitrary name that made no sense. “Purple haze? Cosmopolitan?” He squinted at the menu, making sure he'd read the last drink correctly. “Sex on the Beach?”

 

Dean suddenly choked on something, causing him to frown up and forget the menu in his hands.

 

“You boys ready to order?”

 

The waiter had appeared beside their table again, but his eyes were firmly on Castiel and the angel bit his lip, following the curved junction where his neck met his shoulder and following the skin until it disappeared under the dark purple dress shirt.

 

“I'm not sure what to get.” He confessed, not bothering to look back down at his menu, preferring instead to keep watching the man's dark eyes.

 

He pushed gently with his grace and could immediately see the soul burning fiercely behind his eyes. It crackled energetically, full of life, scarless, fearless and passionate.

 

 _Beautiful_.

 

Warmth was rising in his core again but it was very different from the warmth he'd felt when Dean had told him he enjoyed his company. This burned much hotter and was coiled low in his belly and his fingers curled tight around the edges of his menu when the waiter moved closer to him to peer down at the drinks listed.

 

“Hmm.” The man hummed contemplatively. “You know, you seem like a guy who might enjoy top shelf stuff. Like whiskey or bourbon. I'll bring you one to try.”

 

“Thank you.” He rumbled, distracted when the waiter twirled the pen in his hand.

 

He had very long fingers.

 

“What's your name?”

 

His eyes snapped back up to the man's face and he grinned, “Castiel.”

 

His eyebrow quirked a little. “Gorgeous name for a gorgeous man.”

 

The heat coiled tighter.

 

“And your name?” Castiel asked.

 

“Vincent, but everyone calls me Vince.”

 

“Vince.” He rolled the name on his tongue, noticing when he said it that Vince shifted slightly.

 

“I'll be right back.” The waiter said, voice low.

 

He walked right past Sam and Dean scooted over so his brother could sit down.

 

“You guys order yet?” Sam asked.

 

“Nope. Cas was too busy flirting with the waiter.” Dean said with no small amount of snark, still perusing the drinks menu.

 

The taller brother startled at the words and looked at Cas for confirmation, looking more than a little sceptical.

 

His eye roll was unintentional but his irritated tone was on purpose. “I was not-”

 

“Yes you were!” Dean cried, finally looking up from his menu. “You were practically eye fucking each other.” He finished with a grumble.

 

“I was simply-”

 

“Oh don't _even_ -”

 

“Here you go.”

 

A tumbler of dark amber liquid was set on the table before him, effectively halting their conversation.

 

When the waiter caught sight of Sam, he smiled. “You guys know what you want?”

 

“Beer. Lot's of it.” Dean snapped.

 

Sam was grinning down at the table top, the waiter was scowling at Dean and Castiel was incredibly confused.

 

After Vince had left to get their beer, Sam turned his eyes on Dean and simply stared at his brother with the same grin on his face until the elder turned and snapped.

 

“Shut up!”

 

“I didn't say anything!” Countered Sam defensively.

 

“Just make sure it stays that way.”

 

“Hey man, I'm not the one who's-”

 

“I said _shut up_!”

 

It was at this point where Castiel felt frustrated enough to speak up. “Excuse me, but could someone please explain what is happening?”

 

Dean glared at him but Sam's eyes turned soft and he turned to face the angel.

 

“Well Cas, Dean is jealous-” He cut off abruptly when his brother punched him in the arm so hard he nearly toppled out out the booth. “OW!”

 

“I don't understand.”

 

“Yeah, neither does he.” Sam mumbled, rubbing his arm angrily.

 

Feeling more lost than ever, Castiel picked up the glass that Vince had placed before him and took a sip. The spicy burn was pleasant and he hummed around the sweetness underneath it all contently, taking another mouthful right away.

 

“You like it, hey?” Vince purred, suddenly at his side.

 

“I do. You made a good choice.” Castiel said.

 

The waiter placed two house beers before Sam and Dean and then immediately turned back to Cas.

 

“Can I get you anything else?”

 

“Another one of these.” Castiel answered and then drained the glass.

 

Vince shot him an unmistakably sultry smile and took the glass from his hand, their fingers brushing and sending odd sparks of electricity shooting up his arm.

 

“Sure thing, angel.”

 

“Oh my God.” Dead muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

 

“Drink your beer.” Sam ordered sternly

 

The hunter obeyed instantly, pulled the large glass towards him and chugged it. After eight seconds, the beer was gone and he held up the empty glass and wiggled it when Vince looked over, causing him to roll his eyes skyward and turn back to the bar tender.

 

Two hours later and they were all piss drunk. At least Castiel was fairly sure they were. Sam could barely hold himself up and Dean's cheeks were red while he threw his head back and laughed at something Cas didn't understand.

 

And Castiel knew the feeling of intoxication all too well, though it felt a bit different now than it had the last time he'd gotten drunk. Before there had only been disappointment and anger in the face of his failure to locate his father. But now there was a whole slew of things he was feeling. Chief among them was _hot_.

 

He stripped off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his dress shirt, draining his twelfth glass and slamming it back down on the table a little harder than intended.

 

“Jeez, I forgot how you can put 'em away, Cas.” Sam slurred with a grin.

 

Dean ushered his brother out of the booth, muttering something about having to go to the bathroom, and after a few minutes Sam finally managed to coordinate himself enough to get out of his brother's way and then it was just Sam and Cas staring at each other across the table.

 

“So, this waiter guy.” The hunter said curiously.

 

“Vince.”

 

“Right. _Vince_. What's the deal? You interested in him or what?”

 

Castiel took a moment to marvel at how direct drunk Sam was with his questions as apposed to sober Sam and then just laughed, picking up one of the random bottles of beer that had yet to be touched.

 

“I find it interesting that a mere three or four months ago I would have had no idea what your were talking about but now...” He trailed off as his eyes sought out the well dressed, trim, tanned form of the waiter, immediately finding him in his usual spot leaning up against the bar. “I've been feeling things.” He muttered darkly into his beer, “Things an angel should not feel.”

 

Sam shot him a knowing look and gave a single, solid nod. “You mean feelings for Dean.”

 

He was thankful that he did not need to breath, otherwise he might have choked on the beer in his mouth. As it was, he had trouble swallowing the mouthful of booze, coughing slightly.

 

“ _What_?”

 

Sam just pulled a face. “Dude, come one, don't play dumb.”

 

Castiel remained silent, mostly because he couldn't think of anything to say, which he belatedly realized was likely more condemning than flat out denying what Sam had said. But the longer he spent trying to think of something to say the more his brain seemed to crawl to a sluggish churn and the wider the other man's smirk became.

 

Eventually, after thirty long seconds had passed in which Castiel did nothing more useful than opening and closing his mouth a few times, he finally gave up and chugged the beer in his hand while Sam whooped gleefully across from him.

 

“I knew it! You totally have feelings for Dean!”

 

Cas hissed across the table, slamming his beer down in a sudden flare of alarm and anger. “Say it a little louder, I don't think Dean heard you in the bathroom.”

 

“Oh come on, you know he has the hots for you too.” Sam said dismissively, waving a hand at him as if to swat away his concerns.

 

Numb shock cooled the anger like it had never been there as Castiel stared at the younger brother, unable to come up with words for a second time.

 

“What?” He snapped.

 

The hunter looked surprised through the drunken glaze in his eyes, but only for a split second, then he was back to looking exasperated. “I know you heard what I said.”

 

“Well...how could you possibly know that?” The angel demanded. This wasn't something to be taken lightly and if Sam's drunken mind was just making this up...

 

He refused to entertain the possibility, instead focusing on the tiny spark of hope struggling for life in his core.

 

“Uh, because I'm not blind.” Sam patronized, draining his own beer and trying to set it down on the table but somehow knocking it over at the same time. He didn't even notice and clasped his hands on the table, leaning forward conspiratorially.

 

“You've just put your elbow in some ketchup.” Cas pointed out.

 

“You wanna know how I know Dean likes you?” Sam continued, obviously not hearing the angel and smearing the condiment into his plaid shirt even more. “How about the way he looks at you all the time? Like you've got rainbows coming out your ass.”

 

Castiel blinked at the mental image those words conjured in his hazy brain.

 

“Or the fact that all he does is talk about you whenever you're not around.” Here he mimicked Dean's rough voice, “So, uh, you heard from Cas lately? Oh man, this one time me and Cas did this. Do you think Cas likes pie? Cas, Cas, Cas!” With the last few utterances of the angel's name, Sam's voice had turned high and feminine. “Not to mention he's been asking me a _lot_ of questions about angels.”

 

Castiel frowned, intrigued by Sam's last admission. “Why kind of questions?”

 

“I dunno, random stuff, like what does an angel's true form look like and can their wings manifest themselves while their in a vessel? Can they sleep if they want to? Just random stuff but it's _all the time_.”

 

“There...there could be a lot of reasons for Dean's sudden spike in curiosity regarding angelic-”

 

Sam threw himself back into the booth and clutched at his hair with a howl of indignation, drawing startled looks from the other patrons in the bar. “Are you kidding me?!” He cried, hands slamming down onto the table as he stared at Cas with his mouth hanging open.

 

Castiel silently moved the alcohol on the table out of Sam's reach.

 

“God, I thought trying to talk sense into Dean was painful!” The intoxicated hunter continued. “Your denial is...is...” He struggled to come up with a word to explain himself but failed miserably.

 

“Sam. Dean does not think of me that way.” He said firmly.

 

“ _Yes. He. Does_. And if the two of you weren't so fucking hung up on _what if's_ and _thinking_ and _worrying_ then you could both be very happy.” His long arms easily reached across the table and grabbed one of the beer bottles Cas had moved out of the way.

 

On the outside, Castiel made sure his face was as still and unchanged as ever but on the inside he was screaming. This couldn't be true. He couldn't allow himself to believe what Sam was saying because if he confessed his feelings to Dean and Sam turned out to be wrong then everything would be ruined. After all this time, he couldn't lose Dean to something an angel should not be feeling in the first place.

 

For the thousandth time in the last few days, Castiel cursed the onset of these human feelings and desires. His brothers and sisters had been right. He spends far too much time with the brothers.

 

He raised his head again to look at Sam. “I cannot...pursue a relationship with Dean. Angels aren't...we don't have the ability to...” He sighed and hung his head, muttering dejectedly. “I wouldn't be any good for him. I don't know how to be like that.”

 

When Sam remained silent, Castiel finally looked back up, mildly curious about why the giant of a man suddenly had nothing to say.

 

Sam's face was sad. “Cas, Dean likes _you_. Just as you are.” He shook his head. “When are you going to start seeing that?”

 

He stared into Sam's big, earnest and slightly bloodshot eyes and couldn't help the small smile from tugging at his lips, feeling warm when Sam mirrored him.

 

“Man, that bathroom is classy as hell for such a dive.” Dean said, suddenly back at the table.

 

He gestured for his brother to move over but, with a pointed look at Cas that he didn't try to hide even a little bit, Sam suddenly stood and announced that he was turning in for the night and then left.

 

In the wake of his brother's abrupt departure, Dean was left staring after him confusedly before he looked down at Cas. “What's up with him?”

 

He shrugged, throwing back one of the whiskey shots left on the table in an attempt to calm the sudden roil of nerves in his stomach. When that did nothing, and Dean sat down and pinned him with those green eyes, Cas desperately downed the last three shots and then raised his hand to Vince for more.

 

“Uh...did something happen when I was in the bathroom?”

 

He merely blinked at the hunter, partially distracted by the sway of Vince's hips in his peripheral vision. “What?”

 

“You seem on edge.” Observed Dean, gesturing to the four recently emptied shot glasses.

 

“Oh...uh...” He was saved from trying to explain when Vince sidled up beside him, pressing in so close that he could feel the heat radiation from him, and plunked a fresh glass of whiskey on the table in front of him.

 

“Here you go.” He flashed a smile when Cas thanked him and turned for the first time to give Dean a lingering look before turning back to the angel and pressing even closer and sliding a folded napkin across the table. “I get off at two.” Another smile and soft eyes, “If you have no other plans.”

 

With a final look at Dean, which Cas did not see but made the hunter stiffen in his seat, Vince left and it was a few seconds before Cas' fuzzy brain realized that Vince had just given him his number and invited him to spend the night with him.

 

He blinked rapidly down at the napkin in his hand, eyes tracing the elegant scroll of ink. Seemingly without his consent, his mind began to fabricate images of what a night with Vince might be like. He was sure the waiter's skin was soft. He bit his lip. And warm. The man was _definitely_ warm and his soul burned bright and fierce and-

 

“Cas!”

 

Dean's voice jolted him from his thoughts and he felt heat rise in his cheeks when he realized what direction his mind had been heading in. This was not what he was supposed to be doing! He was supposed to be talking to Dean about...he wondered what it might feel like to have Vince's weight pressing down on him, the feel of bare skin pressing against bare skin.

 

He shook his head. No!

 

“Sam thinks I should tell you something.” He admitted, forcing the images of Vince's naked, writhing, well muscled - “He thinks it's important.”

 

“Uh...ok.” Dean said, looking both intrigued and wary. “What's on your mind?”

 

He wondered what the best approach might be here. Slow and gently or hard and fast? He bet Vince liked it hard and fast...

 

He blinked, wondering where the hell that had come from, and then forced himself to focus again and examine the situation before him as well as he could given that he'd drank enough alcohol to kill a horse.

 

What it boiled down to, essentially, was that Dean seemed pretty sober, maybe a little tipsy, but just blurting out that he had feelings for him likely wouldn't lead to anything good and the last thing he wanted was for the hunter to throw one of his temper tantrums in a crowded bar.

 

So slow and gentle it was.

 

“As you know,” He began, pushing his drink aside, “I've been struggling with human emotions and urges lately that only seem to be getting stronger every day and I'm not entirely sure what to do about it and spend most of my time wishing I didn't have to deal with them at all because, quite frankly, it's terrifying.” He paused, looking away from Dean's intense focus on him, “One of the things I've been feeling, Sam believes, I should share with you. He thinks you can relate.”

 

“Well what is it?” The hunter asked when he didn't elaborate.

 

The words died in his throat and he shook his head. “I don't know how to do this, Dean.” He snapped, frustrated. “I am not supposed to feel these things. I am an _angel_. I am not made with the ability to be anything but a perfect soldier.” He grabbed his drink and swallowed it down in one go, slamming the glass back down.

 

Dean's face was suddenly shuttered, his eyes no longer locked on Cas' but staring down at the table. “You're not supposed to feel _what_ things?”

 

He looked helplessly at his hunter; at the blinding soul raging behind his beautiful green eyes and remembered the day he'd finally seen it for the first time, shinning like a beacon of hope in the pitch darkness of Hell and guiding him home.

 

“I'm not supposed to feel these things...for you.” He finished.

 

There was nothing to do now but sit and wait to see if Sam had been right, so Castiel sat back in the booth and simply watched Dean watch him. It seemed as if the hunter was frozen in shock; he'd expected that.

 

“Cas...” It seemed as if Dean hadn't really thought out where he'd wanted that sentence to go. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Cas...”

 

It seemed as if the slow and gentle approach hadn't been the ticket, although Castiel was relatively sure there was no way he could have broken the news to the other man and not have it end in Dean retreating within himself and denying his attraction to another man.

 

Or maybe Sam was wrong and Dean really _didn't_ feel that way about him and he'd just ruined their friendship forever.

 

He wished he had another drink.

 

“Cas...” Apparently Dean was still trying to form a coherent sentence.

 

He wondered if he had time to wave down Vince or if that would be considered impolite given the circumstances.

 

“Cas, you said Sam told you to tell me this?” Dean finally asked, voice thick with some emotion Castiel couldn't place.

 

“Yes. He seemed to think you have feelings for me also. I argued with him about it but he was adamant.” He realized then that when he was drunk he seemed to talk more than he'd like and he frowned down at the empty glass in his hand like it was pulling the words from his unwilling mouth.

 

He watched as Dean's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Well...he was wrong.”

 

Something cold griped his stomach and twisted violently.

 

“I don't feel that way about guys, ok? I like _women_.”

 

Dean wasn't looking at him anymore, eyes fixed firmly on the table top, body tense.

 

“Sam doesn't know shit!” He snapped finally, hands slamming down on the table so hard that the empty shot glasses rattled loudly against the wood.

 

The coldness in his gut swept quickly through the rest of his body until Castiel felt like he might vomit. Although, he was, admittedly, unsure if that was because of the alcohol he'd ingested or because of Dean's vehement rejection.

 

Either way, he needed air immediately, and stood, only stumbling a little on his weak legs and rushing outside into the cool night air. Once he was outside he leaned against the brick wall, catching his breath and wondering why he felt so deprived of oxygen in the first place. When the haze refused to lift from his mind, Castiel angrily called upon his grace and burned the alcohol coursing through his blood, vaporizing it instantly and leaving himself reeling and shockingly, jarringly, coherent.

 

He groaned when the rejection, which he hadn't realized had been so muted by the alcohol, hit him full force.

 

It was surprising how fast the cold fingers of dread were burned away by the rising tide of anger. He thought back to Dean's words and realized he hadn't denied any feelings for Cas but instead seemed to be stuck on the gender of his vessel and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

 

Trust Dean Winchester, the man who didn't give a fuck about anything but his brother, to get hung up on his sexuality and worry about what everyone he _didn't care_ about would think of him.

 

Much sooner than he'd anticipated, the anger vanished too and something unfamiliar replaced it. He didn't give it much thought, instead forming a plan as he turned and headed back into the bar. The clock on the wall showed that it was ten minutes to two AM, which was absolutely perfect, and he grinned, not bothering to spare a glance at the table where he'd left Dean, not caring either way if he saw what he was about to do.

 

If Dean didn't want to be with him, then he would spend his time on someone he _knew_ wanted him.

 

Vince was leaning against the bar, looking bored.

 

“You!” Castiel snapped, perhaps a little louder than necessary. It made the other man jump and turn to regard him with a curious expression. He strode up to him and without hesitation, grabbed the front of his purple dress shirt and yanked him forward to press their lips together.

 

Vince responded immediately, pushing against Castiel as hard as Castiel pushed against him, hands tangling in the angel's short hair boldly despite the audience of a bar full of people.

 

When they broke apart, Cas pulled back just enough so that his eyes could focus on the man's face clearly.

 

“You're off soon?”

 

Vince nodded, his earlier sultry smile and easy persona now replaced with an intense frown and blown pupils as he bit his lip harshly. “Yeah.”

 

“You find me attractive?”

 

“ _Oh_ yeah.”

 

“Do you still want to take me home?”

 

“ _Hell_ yeah.” Was the immediate and enthusiastic response.

 

Castiel pressed another firm kiss to the man's soft lips and then turned, grabbing his hand blindly to pull him along and out of the bar swiftly. All those little daydreams of Vince's soft, warm skin, strong hands and bright soul came crashing back over him, even stronger in the wake of his sobriety and Castiel bit his lip, using the sting of it to push every last thought of Dean Winchester from his head and fill the ensuing space with Vincent.

 

* * *

 

 

They hadn't even made it through the door before they were tearing at each others' clothes. Vincent blindly kicked at the door behind him, unwilling to turn away from Cas or let go of the white dress shirt fisted in his hands. It slammed shut hard, rattling a mirror on the wall but it went entirely unnoticed as Vince pushed hard against the angel's chest, forcing him up against the wall at the base of a staircase that lead to the second floor.

 

“I gotta be honest,” The man gasped when he tore his mouth away from Cas' and moved in to press light kisses to the spot where his neck met his shoulder, pulling his dress shirt aside roughly, “I didn't think your buddy there was gonna let you come home with me.”

 

The words penetrated weakly through the fog that had filled Cas' brain and he frowned. “Why?”

 

Vince pulled back just far enough so that he could shoot the angel a sceptical look. “Because it's obvious he has the hots for you.” His eyes darted downward and slowly trailed back up until they were looking each other in the eye again and Cas felt himself swallow hard, “What's not to love?”

 

The angel swallowed again. “People keep saying that, but I assure you, he does not.”

 

Vince pulled away further and Cas tightened his grip on the belt loops of his dress pants, unwilling to let go of the heat their closeness provided. The other man was wearing a small frown while he stared curiously, the haze of lust in his eye clearing a little.

 

“You seem pretty certain.”

 

“Well he _did_ tell me as much. Word for word.” Castiel grumbled, pulling Vincent back to him so that their hips were pressed together. The contact made him suck a breath past his teeth.

 

“Oh honey, that means nothing.” Chuckled Vince, leaning in again to nibble at Cas' exposed collar bone. “He's obviously one of those,” he paused to lick a path up the angel's neck, “macho dudes that can't admit he finds other men attractive.”

 

Cas froze. “That's what his brother says.”

 

“Smart guy.”

 

He allowed himself to be led up the stairs, eyes trained on the gentle sway of Vince's hips and once again forced Dean Winchester from his head. So what if what Vince and Sam said was true? Dean refused to admit it and Castiel was not going to force him and he also wasn't going to wait forever for Dean to come to terms with his sexuality.

 

The feeling of a mattress hitting the back of his knees pulled Cas' mind back to the present and he felt Vince's warm hands pushing inside his shirt and the dry drag of skin on skin made goosebumps rise up all over his body.

 

His hands dropped to the man's waist and he pulled sharply, urgently, at the purple dress shirt, pulling it free of the waist band and sliding his hands up Vincent's back, fingers fluttering over ridges of firm muscle.

 

“Off.” He growled into the waiter's open mouth.

 

The other man complied instantly, forgoing the buttons and simply tugging the shirt up and over his head and tossing it away.

 

“Now you.”

 

When their bare torso's finally touched, Castiel felt like his skin was on fire and his hands gripped desperately at whatever part of Vince they could reach; desperately trying to ground himself amidst the onslaught of new sensations he was feeling.

 

He was pushed backwards and the bed hit the back of his knees again and he tumbled backwards onto the mattress, Vince lowering himself onto his elbows to hover over him.

 

“You sure about this, angel?” Vince panted, gazing down at him with lidded eyes and blown pupils and, despite his obvious arousal, the sincerity behind his words was evident.

 

Castiel paused to stare back, his own breath laboured. Dean's furious face rose up from memory.

 

“ _Sam doesn't know shit!”_

 

“Don't get me wrong, Castiel.” Vince continued when the angel failed to respond to his question. “I think you're a gorgeous guy, but I'm not the kind of man that wants to get between two people that obviously have something going on between them.”

 

It looked as if Vince was having second thoughts himself and even as he spoke, Cas could feel him pushing up and away from him ever so slightly and he grabbed the front of the man's belt, fingers sneaking between the fabric of his clothes and his warm, soft skin.

 

“Dean and I share and bond that goes beyond friendship but I do not think it will ever amount to something physical.” He admitted to the other man, trailing the fingers of his other hand lightly up Vince's arm.

 

“But you wish that it would?”

 

Castiel's lips thinned but he did not respond and, this time, when Vince made to move away, he let him go and the waiter rolled over onto his back and laid down beside him. They both took a few moments to stare silently up at the ceiling before Vince heaved a great sigh and sat up.

 

“I don't think we should do this.”

 

Castiel sent him a halfhearted glare. “Might I remind you that _you_ invited _me_ to your bed.”

 

The other man smirked and let his dark eyes wander appreciatively over the angel's bare torso. “I know. I didn't say I was happy about it. But I'm not gonna fuck this up for you guys. I've had that done to me before and I swore I'd never be that guy, you know?”

 

“No. But I can appreciate what you're trying to say.” He sat up with a sigh of his own and looked around disinterestedly at the bedroom's modern furnishings. “Thank you, I suppose.” He grumbled at last, feeling frustrated both emotionally and physically.

 

Vince chuckled and placed a large hand on Castiel's thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “Come on, gorgeous. I'll make you some coffee.”

 

Vincent's house was small but cozy; packed with much more personal items then the angel would have guessed. There were pictures of family members on every available surface and handmade knick knacks like pillows, and throw blankets on chairs and the sofa and it made Cas smile.

 

In the kitchen, he was told to sit at the island table and a mug with the words 'World's Coolest Uncle' on it was placed before him.

 

“You must have a very large family.” He observed.

 

“Ha! We sure do. I'm Italian and what you can see in all these pictures is only about half of us.”

 

When the coffee had finished brewing and the two men were sat across from each other, each with a steaming mug in their hands, Vince blew gently over the surface of his drink and fixed his eyes on Castiel.

 

“So. Tell me about Dean.”

 

He could feel the corner of his mouth twist upwards slightly but he decided to indulge the man. If nothing else, he may be able to offer some insight.

 

“Dean is...stubborn and angry. He drinks too much and is reckless and stupid...” He trailed off and then sighed, resting his face on his hand. “He's also selfless and loving and strong. His soul burns so brightly, so fiercely that sometimes I feel like it will blind me. He constantly sacrifices himself to help others, despite my objections.” He scoffed, rubbing absently at his temple. “On some level I know Dean cares for me, though I do not know if he feels the way I do. I raised him from...a very dark place and in some ways I know him better than he knows himself but in other ways I am completely ignorant and without understanding. I fear some days that I will never truly grasp when it means to be human.”

 

He realized then that he was rambling and he forced himself to focus back on Vince, who was staring at him with wide eyes, his jaw slack.

 

“Man, you're in deep, huh?” The waiter said at length, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Well, if anything, when you get back to the motel there's a good chance some of this might get cleared up.”

 

He frowned. “How so?”

 

With a shrug, Vince absently traced his index finger around the ridge of his mug. “Well, Dean will probably assume we slept together, so when you get back, he'll probably be pissed. Is he the kind of guy that yells when he's angry or gives you the silent treatment?”

 

Castiel took a brief moment to reflect on his memories of Dean being in a sour mood. “He runs.”

 

“Like goes for a jog?”

 

“No. He leaves.”

 

He was offered a sympathetic wince. “Oh, one of _those_ emotionally constipated guys, eh? They're super fun.” It was obvious from his dark tone that he was speaking from experience. “Well, either way, he's probably not going to abandon you and the tall guy here so he's still gonna be there when you get back. Then you'll be able to tell if he's bothered by you coming home with me or not. If he's all pissy and stuff, he's totally got the hots for you. If he's passed out then you might want to think about moving on.”

 

“I suppose you're right.” Either way, the thought of either scenario waiting for him upon his return to the hotel left a cold feeling in the pit of Castiel's stomach and he gulped down the rest of his coffee, wondering if there was some way he could prolong going back.

 

Instead, he forced himself to his feet and let Vince see him out with a 'good luck' and subtle ass grab that made him jump slightly. He declined the offer for a ride back, claiming instead that he would walk and give him time to clear his head. Once the door was closed, however, he spread his wings and was instantly standing outside room 27, the peep hole staring him down mockingly and the light sprinkle of rain, what was left of the storm that had forced them here in the first place, hitting his face.

 

When he entered the room, Sam was sitting at the table with his laptop, eyes bloodshot and unfocused as he scrolled through something on his monitor.

 

Dean was nowhere to be found.

 

When the door snapped shut behind him, Sam finally looked up. “Oh, hey Cas!” He grinned but then the smile slipped from his face as if he'd suddenly remembered something. “Er...how was your night?”

 

Sam was looking anywhere but directly at him and Castiel realized that Dean had likely told his brother that he'd gone home with Vince.

 

“Where is Dean?” He asked in lieu of answering Sam's drunken enquiry.

 

“Uhh...”

 

Just then the bathroom door swung open and from within a cloud of steam that billowed outwards into the room stepped the elder hunter, hair wet and clothes clinging to damp skin.

 

“Oh. You're back.” Dean said, voice flat as his eyes raked up and down his angelic friend, no doubt looking for clues as to what had transpired between him and Vince.

 

“And you're still conscious.” Castiel remarked, his words snappish even though he hadn't intended it.

 

“Yeah well,” Dean tossed his wet towel into a corner of the room and flopped down on his bed. “I didn't feel like drinking anymore.”

 

A few moments of awkward silence passed between them before Dean, in an apparently sudden burst of uncharacteristic emotional bravery, sat up and said:

 

“So, how was it?”

 

Castiel felt mildly confused. “How was what?”

 

Dean's smile was strained. “How was _Vince_?”

 

Anger began to swell in his core, accompanied by something that made him feel vaguely nauseous.

 

The sound of the door closing gently alerted him to Sam's stealthy departure.

 

“You let him fuck you?”

 

The bluntness of the question caught him off guard but it also alerted him to the fact that Dean was still far from sober. He never would have asked otherwise.

 

“No.” He did _not_ sound defensive. He didn't.

 

“So what then, you get on your knees for him?” Dean face was devoid of emotion but his voice held no small amount of rage.

 

Finding himself confused again at what the hunter was implying, Castiel's own anger roiled. “I don't know what that means.”

 

It was then that Dean finally broke eye contact to scoff and shake his head. When he looked back up, the harsh lines around his eyes seemed to have softened slightly.

 

“You really don't, do you?” He shook his head again. “So you didn't sleep with him?”

 

“No. He seemed to think it was a bad idea.” Castiel grit his teeth through the shocked looked his words pulled from Dean.

 

“So, uh, you guys didn't...”

 

“No. We didn't.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Why are you still awake?”

 

“I was waiting for-” Dean's jaw snapped shut when he drunken brain caught up with his mouth and he scowled.

 

It was Castiel's turn to smirk. Perhaps Vince had been right. He certainly seemed to know what he was talking about. Though having this conversation with the hunter while he was under the influence of alcohol seemed unfair to both of them. Castiel did not want to hear anything from the man's lips that he would not say when sober.

 

“Go to bed, Dean.” He ordered firmly.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was so awkward even Castiel was aware of it sitting thick and heavy between the three of them. Sam was hungover and was laying in the passenger seat with his head nearly hanging out the open window and Castiel was more than happy with his position in the back seat, where he did not have to look at Dean's stony face or meet his eyes.

 

As they made their way eastward, the blur of trees whizzing by his window gradually thinned and then disappeared to make way for rolling grass fields. Castiel looked skyward out the north facing window of the car and saw heavy looking grey clouds starting to form and when he looked to the south, a solid line of black, rolling clouds were crawling menacingly over the grasslands towards them. By the time they hit Glennville the sky was dark with laden storm clouds that promised yet another torrential downpour and a vague threat of powerful winds.

 

The energy of the brewing storm crackled along Castiel's senses and he couldn't help but smile and marvel at the power behind it. He closed his eyes, blocking out the roar of the impala's engine and allowing his grace to push upwards in a cruel mockery of flight. It didn't compare to the real thing, not even close, but it was a small bit of relief from the oppressive atmosphere on the car.

 

He couldn't see, not like he could with his eyes, but he could _feel_ the electricity tingling through him and hear the angry howl of the wind as it gathered it's strength. Higher and higher he pushed until the air began to thin and the icy feel of raindrops rolled along the stretching arms of his grace like a soothing balm.

 

His wings ached in longing.

 

“You ok Cas?”

 

Sam's voice, though gentle, startled him, and his grace snapped back into the confines of his vessel sharply, making him jerk in discomfort.

 

“Yes, Sam. Why do you ask?”

 

The tall man, now sitting up straight, glanced over his shoulder with a small smile. “You looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

 

“Technically, I was. I...projected my grace into the storm.”

 

Stunned silence followed this announcement and then Sam spun around in his seat, eyes glinting in the same way they did whenever the man walked into a library, all traces of his hangover vaporized by his eagerness to learn something new.

 

“You projected your grace into the storm?” He echoed in wonder.

 

Even Dean was glancing in the rear view mirror now, eyes curious.

 

“Yes I was just trying to...stretch.” He hoped Sam didn't ask how he'd done it, as he wasn't sure the English language would be sufficient to explain such a thing.

 

“What did it feel like?”

 

“Mmm I can feel the strength behind it. It will be a powerful storm, the electricity was already seeking me out.”

 

A small frown creased the space between Sam's eyebrows. “What do you mean, seeking you out?”

 

“Angels have the ability to...take in the naturally occurring powers of nature. If I needed to, I could absorb the power of the storm and control it, to a certain degree. But I've only done it once before and it is quite overwhelming.”

 

Sam's jaw was slack and his eyes were wide and he looked like a child. “What'd you use it for?”

 

Castiel shifted, recalling the events that had lead to his one and only use of nature's furious power. He supposed he could indulge the man, since the feeling of restlessness was growing and they still had several hours to drive, he decided the distraction of story telling would serve him well. Besides, in the past, he'd often been called up by his brothers to re-tell stories from the battle field and had been told by many that he could paint quite a picture.

 

“Are you familiar with the war of Thaiden?”

 

He watched as Sam's nose scrunched up in his attempt to recall any information on the subject.

 

“Well there came a point where we deemed it necessary to intervene. After 37 days of nothing but death and destruction neither side seemed to be gaining any ground. Things were getting bloody and there was no end in sight so we came to earth when we felt a storm begin to swell over the heads of the fighting soldiers. I remember it well.” The memories crashed over him as fresh and real as if it were happening then and now. “We flew down. Through the rain and the wind and the blackened, angry clouds and I could feel the icy water hitting my wings like tiny stones. Thunder boomed around us like a horseman's whip; it was deafening. We came through the very centre of the storm and lightning was flashing above and below and the urge to just reach out with my grace and draw it in was _so_ strong. But I had specific orders and had been told to wait until we were on the ground where he could be seen by the humans. When we touched down it was in the very epicentre of the battlefield and my feet hit the ground and I was walking on nothing but mud and blood, packed down over weeks and weeks of constant bloodshed and then soaked through by the rain. The first step I took was over someone's decapitated corps and my six brothers and sisters quickly formed a circle around me to fend off any attackers. But the soldiers were so busy slaughtering everything that moved that at first they didn't even notice us, which is saying something because we'd come to them as close to our true form as they'd be able to handle.”

 

“Hang on though, I thought you said that manifesting your wings takes a lot of energy.” Sam asked curiously.

 

“It does, but it also allows us better control over how our grace bonds with the power of nature. And since I was going to be taking in massive amounts of energy anyway, it really was beneficial.”

 

On que, fat raindrops started falling from the engorged clouds and Dean flicked on the wipers absently.

 

“Once I knew I wasn't going to be bothered by the soldiers, I reached upwards, I was eager to have that power and it seemed as if the storm's energy was eager to have an outlet as well. I was immediately struck by lightning and it felt...” He came up short, unable to really describe the feeling even as he was remembering it. “I admit that I was momentarily overwhelmed and it took me a moment longer than expected to get myself under control. The urge to just let the power reign free was incredible, but I would have decimated the entirety of the battlefield and that was not what we were there to do.” He shook his head. “Eventually I managed to get myself under control and we,” he huffed a laugh, “We followed our orders and gave them a bit of a fright.”

 

“Oh, you have to elaborate on that!” Sam cried, now fully turned in his seat, back facing the windshield and his grip white knuckled on the seat back.

 

Castiel grinned. “I channelled the wind to blow them all over and get their attention, it worked remarkably well, and then suddenly we finally had eyes on us, all ten thousand of them. Once they saw us standing there in the centre of it all it was suddenly very quiet and very still. I remember being able to hear the sound of the rain hitting their armour even through the roar of electricity coursing through me...then I brought the lightning down and split the earth open.” He chuckled, remembering the stricken and awestruck looks on the dirty faces of the soldiers. “The effect was almost ruined when Balthazar started laughing.”

 

By now the rain was coming down in droves, fat droplets hitting the roof and windows of the car like bullets, the wipers swinging back and forth furiously.

 

“I was lost in the feeling of the power coursing through me.” Cas continued, feeling the dull echo of the memory tingling at his fingertips. “The rain soaking through my clothes and cutting at my face. The wind was howling, soldiers were screaming and crying but it all seemed to stop for a second when the earth broke open.”

 

Over their heads a loud clap of thunder crackled deeply.

 

“It was incredibly loud . A deafening boom shook the earth under our feet, tossing the soldiers into the mud. The chasm swallowed a few of them whole and those near the edge scrambled away and it was only a few seconds before thousands of eyes were on us again. I could scarcely make out their expressions through the light radiating from my core and the heat of all that power was becoming overwhelming. I was burning from the inside out but I couldn't let go, my grace was pulling it in so fast...” He shook his head. “Luckily, Balthazar noticed something was wrong and severed the connection, though, not without causing himself some damage in the process.”

 

When he finished speaking the only sound was that of the rain beating angrily at the car as they sped down the highway and Castiel turned again to look out the window and towards the raging sky.

 

“Shit.” He heard Sam muttered and turned to find the younger Winchester staring at him in wide eyed wonder; the same expression that had stuttered onto his face when they'd first met. The young man shook his head slightly, the wonder in his eye holding firm. “Sometimes I forget what you are.”

 

Unsure of how he was supposed to feel about the statement, Castiel remained silent, his attention partially focused on the dull ache that was starting at the base of his wings. Now that the memories of the story he'd told were fading away, so too did his distraction fade. He shifted with discomfort, trying to ease the ache that he knew would only get worse over the next few days if he didn't do something about it.

 

Apparently Sam took his movement to mean he'd been somehow insulted by the boy's words and Castiel suppressed a grin when Sam paled and his eyes went wide, apologies and explanations tumbling out of his mouth so fast the words were tripping over themselves.

 

“Sam.” Castiel interrupted quietly, effectively halting the litany. “I know what you meant. You needn't worry.”

 

With the reassurance it looked as if a visible weight had been lifted of the giant man's shoulders and he released a breath. “Oh good. I thought...I mean you just looked like you were...”

 

Dean heaving a sigh and shaking his head a little made Sam stop rambling and Castiel finally smiled when a bright blush crept it's way up Sam's neck and onto his cheeks.

 

“I was merely trying to dispel the ache in my wings, Sam.” The young man's fear that Castiel had been insulted by his words was endearing and made the angel feel warm.

 

“Your wings?” Sam echoed, the look of wonder back on his face. He twisted around in his seat again as much as his large form would allow, brown eyes trailing up and over the empty space behind the angel.

 

Dean's eyes flicked up from the road to stare into the mirror.

 

“Your wings still bothering you?” He asked, his tone light.

 

It was the first thing the hunter had said to him since last night and Castiel felt something seize his throat and squeeze.

 

“Yes. I'm afraid it will only get worse as time goes on.”

 

Sam's attention was flicking back and forth between his brother and the angel in the back seat, jaw slack and eyes pinched in accusation when he realized they'd been discussing something as awe inspiring as an angel's wings without him.

 

“Well,” Dean spoke up again, a determined set to his shoulders. “When we're done with this next hunt maybe we can go somewhere where you can...you know, do whatever you need to do to feel better.”

 

Sam was practically vibrating in the passenger seat. “Rufus' cabin!” He blurted suddenly.

 

His brother gave him a questioning look but then the corners of his mouth pulled down and he glanced up in the mirror again, catching Cas' eye. “What do you say, Cas? A little R&R will do us all some good.”

 

He looked between the brothers, wondering if he understood what they were suggesting. “You mean...we would not be fighting anything? Or planning to fight anything? Or researching?...Nothing?”

 

Dean began to chuckle, the sound low in his chest and Sam's face had softened into a gentle smile.

 

“Yeah, Cas. We'd just be taking a break. No killing or plotting or anything like that.” The young hunter confirmed. “And you can, uh, you know...” Sam's hand flailed in the air in front of him for a second before Dean suddenly smacked it down with a roll of his eyes.

 

“And you can do whatever it is angel's do to chill out.”

 

Castiel smiled at that. He was sure the brothers meant well but he didn't think they'd take well to him messing up their friend's cabin by molting feathers and taking up most of the living room with a giant nest of pillows and blankets. He decided that maybe he would see how far he could push the boundaries of what the brothers considered tolerable behaviour.

 

Dean's mood seemed to have evened out by the time they'd reached the town of their next hunt. Castiel hadn't asked for the details and his mind had wandered to things more interesting when Sam had begun rambling about the creature they were going to hunt, spewing stories from the local newspapers and facts that he'd just learned from the book sitting open in his lap.

 

The town was hot and humid, the air heavy with the promise of another storm already. The old, overworked air conditioner rattled pitifully in the windowsill, kicking up lazy swirls of dust that cut through the gold streams of light from the setting sun outside the window.

 

Castiel watched the glittering particles listlessly, the heat making him feel sluggish and sleepy. He'd long since shrugged out of his overcoat and suit jacket but found little relief from the oppressive atmosphere.

 

“It sounds like a Yenaldooshi.” Was his muttered contribution to the conversation between the two brothers.

 

They had been, for the last two hours, compiling evidence from the local papers and trying to narrow down what it was they were hunting.

 

“A what?” Dean asked at length.

 

“A Yenaldooshi.” Castiel repeated, this time louder. “It's a creature from Navajo mythology. Something like a cross between a witch and a skin-walker.”

 

The elder hunter's face morphed into a look of purest disgust. “Awesome.”

 

After they'd spent another hour and a trip to the local library researching the best ways to kill the thing Sam was finally the one to stand from the table and stretch his arms over his head.

 

“Ready to go?” He groaned as he stood from the table and snapped his laptop shut. The motel room had the air as if the trio were just setting out to go on the road again instead of going out to hunt down and kill a monster terrorizing the small town.

 

“Yeah let's get this over with.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel felt some of his ribs crack when he hit the wall and he slid down to the dusty floor when his legs gave out under the flare of pain. Before he could regain his footing the beast was upon him, massive paws and sharp claws crushing his torso under it's immense weight. He felt his bones snapping under his skin, puncturing organs and letting blood rush and pool into places it ought not to be.

 

“Cas!”

 

The beast's rancid breath was panting over his face, hot and wet with decay, skin rotted and bloody like all conjured familiars in necromancy.

 

Castiel called on his weakened grace, struggling to reach it through the wards the clever witch had painted around her den as warm blood pushed it's way up his oesophagus.

 

Across the room, he could hear the two brothers struggling with the other beast but he could not afford to split his focus, beginning to fear for his own life the more the beast on top of him sniffed the blood dripping from his lips.

 

He managed to free his arm from where it was pinned by a gigantic paw and pressed his hand up against the animal's chest, finally grabbing a hold of his grace and forcing the meagre filament of power out through his hand.

 

It wasn't much grace but it was enough to make the beast howl and recoil when it's rotted flesh hissed and bubbled like it had been burned with fire. It had gotten the minion off of him but Castiel's broken vessel protested with a flash of agony when he tried to sit up.

 

“Cas!”

 

The beast was still howling and whimpering in the corner, smoke lingering from the growing hole in it's chest, the flesh melting away like Castiel had thrown acid on him.

 

While the witch's summoned minion was occupied, Castiel used what little grace he could access to repair the most pressing of his injuries, enough so that he could move with a tolerable amount of pain. When he managed to stagger to his feet, Castiel saw Sam unconscious on the floor and Dean facing off with the other dog like beast, hunting knife in a white knuckled grip as hunter and monster circled each other.

 

The witch was nowhere to be seen.

 

The angel made the decision suddenly, knowing that it was his best option. The monster in the corner was regaining it's senses and the one humouring Dean was in better shape than the hunter himself. Without his grace, Cas had nothing but his angel blade and that had already been knocked out of his hand and was on the other side of the room.

 

But Castiel had a much more deadly weapon than his angel blade. Something that made him lethal in battle.

 

With blood still dripping freely from his mouth, broken bits of bone grinding when he moved, Castiel pulled his wings into being and they flared strongly behind him, giving the beast, which had just found it's footing again, pause.

 

It's black eyes raked over the massive appendages, gauging whether this new threat was something it could handle. While it seized him up, Cas crouched low, ignoring the feeling of his insides shifting unnaturally, and readied himself.

 

When the beast launched itself at him, Castiel drove the joint of his wing forward to meet it, smashing it right in it's rotted face, ripping out half it's teeth and snapping it's jaw bone with the sheer force of the impact.

 

The thing crashed to the ground with a groan and Castiel readied his wings again, nothing but a dull throb in the strong bone. As the animal once again staggered to it's feet, the angel was suddenly on the receiving end of both the beasts' attention and he was being circled.

 

A quick glance across the room saw Dean on his ass, shaking his head with a dazed expression and Sam beginning to stir on the floor.

 

One of the beasts leapt at him and he flared his wings again to meet it. The flight feathers stiffened, solid and strong as titanium, and when the beast's jaws closed around it, the microscopically serrated edge of the seraph's wing sliced through the bone and muscle and cleaved off the top of the animal's head as easy as a hot knife cut through butter.

 

The top of it's skull hit the floor with a dull crack, followed shortly by the stiff body.

 

A stillness descended on the room as the angel turned to the remaining monster, ignoring the disgusting feeling of it's brethren's tainted blood sticking to his feathers and fanning them out, satisfied when those black eyes followed the movement of the blood dripping from his dark feathers.

 

He crouched lower, the palm of one hand on the floor to steady him against a bout of lightheadedness. Whether it was from blood loss or the strain of manifesting his wings, he couldn't be sure but the pain in his body was getting harder to ignore.

 

His eyes tracked the beast as it circled him, scraping it's claw across the dirty floor threateningly. In response, the angel's wings flexed powerfully at his back, their length nearly spanning the entire room in an aggressive display.

 

“Cas?” Dean's voice had turned cautious and questioning and out of the corner of his eye, Castiel could see that he had regained his footing and was standing over beside Sam who was at least sitting up.

 

Their gaze was heavy but Castiel could not afford to look away from the beast. He tried to move between the brothers and the monster seizing him up but had barely taken a step when it charged him. He moved to intercept it, folding his right wing and driving the top joint forward but the beast had learned from watching it's companion and ducked out of the way, razor sharp teeth snapping at the base of the angel's wing.

 

Castiel twisted away, rage burning through him and masking the fiery pain of his internal injuries. He spun around as the beast's jaws snapped at him again and, with one strong beat of his wings, lifted off the ground and landed behind the monster in a flurry of dust and dead leaves.

Quick as a striking viper, Castiel's wing struck out with such force that the sound of snapping bones was loud as a whip in the large room.

 

But the beast was defiant to the end, standing on shattered legs. Castiel advanced on it while it growled low, blood gurgling and bubbling up from it's throat. When it roared, righteous anger flared outward from his core and with one snap of his wing, the beast's head slid cleanly from it's shoulders and the body toppled sideways.

 

* * *

 

Let me know if you like it!  Also, I completely made up the War of Thadien.  Sorry for any spelling errors...I always miss a few.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely Chanelle for being my beta reader!

It took a few seconds for Castiel to realize that the sound of laboured breathing was coming from him and a few seconds longer to realize that blood was rushing into his lungs with every deep inhale.  He coughed violently, the sound wet where it rattled deep in his chest, and pain seared around his rib cage when his muscles contracted and shifted the broken bones.

“Cas!”  One of the brothers was at his side, a large hand on his shoulder.  “Hey man, take it easy.”

Now that the distraction of the life or death battle was gone, the pain that Castiel had been ignoring was hitting him full force and he fell to his knees, teeth bared in a bloody snarl and wings flaring to keep him balanced - but the brothers caught him under the arms and held him up.

“Let go,” groaned Cas through clenched teeth, feeling muscles pull at his broken bones from where he hung limply between them.

But their hands didn't loosen on his arms and they were talking above him and tugging at where they gripped his arms, causing a fresh wave of white hot pain to rip through his torso and, despite his best efforts to contain it, a cry made it past his lips and he angrily flared his wings, effectively dislodging the hunters.  Without their support, he promptly fell to the ground and another cough wracked his body, blood spilled from his lips.

“Cas...gotta get up...”

What the angel was sure was Sam's disembodied voice reached his brain in choppy intervals through the blood pounding in his ears, but he ignored it, instead folding his wings around his body like a cocoon and trying desperately to reach his suppressed grace.  If he could just _touch_ it...but it was as if it were locked away inside him, just out of reach, and maybe if he wasn't in so much pain - if he could just _focus_ -

Hands were on him again but this time they were gentle, hesitant, as they pushed at his wings, no doubt so that they could try and drag him around some more, and he flicked the edge of the massive appendage angrily with a growled, “Off!”  

He tried again to reach for his grace but was blocked just as firmly and he groaned in frustration and pain, turning his face into his own soft feathers.  It was no use.  Something had to be done about the wards.

“The wards.”  He panted, the words sticking in his throat when a fresh wave of blood rushed over his vocal chords.  “The wards.”  He repeated, scrunching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against the mountain of pain.  “Destroy them.”

He heard scuffling, arguing and then silence for a while.  Darkness was creeping in at the corners of his mind and he felt his grace flicker weakly behind the witch's barrier like a dying flame.  Warm blood was seeping from his body and through his feathers, sticky and congealing on the flesh underneath and more of the life sustaining liquid was filling his mouth faster than he could spit it out.

And then suddenly he felt his grace pulse powerfully, like it had been pushing against a door that someone had abruptly pulled open, and the angel latched on to it hungrily.  He howled with the pain of it ripping through him in a furious wave, cleansing the necromancer's taint and mending broken bones and shredded tissue.

It only lasted a few seconds before his power was once again weakened but he'd managed to repair most of the damage.  Blood had been cleared from his lungs and all the bones that had been broken by the hell beasts had been mended and he was left only with a few scrapes and bruises and a considerably lessened amount of pain.

He pulled a clean breath of air into his lungs and eased his wings back so that he could peel his eyes open and take stock of his surroundings.  

Two incredibly worried looking faces were hovering in front of him, pale and blood spattered but otherwise alright.

“Jesus, Cas, you scared the hell outta me!”  Dean cried accusingly, as if the angel hadn't nearly just died to save their asses.  “Are you alright?”  He asked next, tone still aggressive and rough.

“I am...better than I was,” the angel answered, shifting to get a feel for anything that might still be broken.

The brothers shared a look, the harsh lines around their eyes not easing in the slightest.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I am no longer concerned that I'm about to die.”  He sighed, his eyes drooping.  “I am still...very weak...”  He was so tired.  “My wings...the wards-”

“Yeah, we get it, it's ok, Cas.”  Sam assured him and again he felt tentative hands on his wings.  “Just...just take it easy ok, we're gonna get you out of here.”

The touch to his wings was light and cautious but his feathers flared all the same in response, standing at attention like a spooked cat and causing both brothers to suck in a breath and take a step back, wide eyed.

Dean blinked rapidly a few times and then turned a furious gaze on his brother, punching him in the arm hard enough to make Sam cry out in surprise.  

“You idiot, you hurt him!”

The younger brother paled and looked even more distressed. “I'm sorry!  I didn't mean-”

“Shut up!”  Castiel snapped.  “Both of you.”  He pushed himself into a sitting position, arching his wings up so that most of them were off the dirty floor and held out a hand.  “Help me up.  I want to get out of here.”

It took some team work but eventually they got the angel in the car.  It worked out well really.  The only way he could fit comfortably was if he folded his wings to his back and laid down across the back seat, which was just fine with him.  He felt drained of both his angelic essence and physical energy and even though most of the pain was gone, if he moved too fast, or the wrong way, flashes of fire still made him clench his teeth.

It felt like no time at all before the boys were coaxing him out of the car, but, as the sun glared down on them from the highest point in the sky, Castiel realized they must have driven for hours, given that when he'd gotten in the car it had been dark out.

He pushed their hands away when the brothers moved to support him and grumbled out a surly, “I can walk, thank you” and pushed away from the car.

They were at Rufus’ cabin, Castiel realized when he glanced around.  The brothers must have driven straight there after they'd scraped him off the floor of that Yenaldoosie's lair.  He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the wind blowing through the trees calm him, and stretched his wings out and upwards, grateful that there was no pain from them and that the demon spawn hadn't managed to get its rotten teeth into them.  But he grimaced when he felt some of the feathers stick together with dried blood and brought the tip of one wing down to examine it closely, fingers combing through the congealed substance uselessly, mouth twisted in disgust.

“Cas, come on.”

There was gentle pressure between his shoulder blades and Castiel mindlessly allowed Dean to guide him towards the cabin while he continued to try and clean the dried blood from his feathers.

Once they were inside, Sam quickly went to open all the windows in an attempt to rid the cabin of its stale, unused smell while Dean disappeared into another room.

Castiel barely noticed them, his attention focused solely on combing his fingers through his feathers.  It was instinct, a compulsion, one that every angel had.  Wings were next to useless for flight and in battle if they weren't clean. He carded his fingers through the feathers in practiced strokes; although at this point he might be doing more harm than good as his hands were caked in dried blood as well.  

A small sound of dismay eased its way from his throat at the realization and he looked at his hands helplessly as a fresh wave of exhaustion crashed over him and he wavered.

“Alright, Cas, c'mere.”  Dean said, suddenly appearing before him and taking hold of his arm to pull him along.

“No, I need to clean-”

“I know, we're going to the sink.”

It was already filled with soapy water and Castiel blinked down at it with concern, seeing it as evidence of how out of it he must be if he hadn't heard the running water and the hunter rummaging around in the cupboards for detergent.  

The soap was sweet smelling; a strange contrast to the dinginess of the old cabin.

A sharp screech of metal sliding against metal close behind him made the angel start and spin around.  Luckily, Dean had the sense to duck out of the way of the solid joint that would have struck him across the temple.

Eyeing the pair of rusty scissors in the hunter's hand, Castiel felt a pang on uneasiness coil tightly around his lungs.  

“What are you doing?”  He asked, subconsciously folding his wings tightly against his back.  His eyes darted around the room briefly, wondering where Sam had gone.

“We just need to get your jacket off, buddy.”  Dean explained, his eyes soft while he held the scissors aloft.  “Can't have you sleeping in bloody clothes.”

He supposed that made sense, though his eyes darted down from Dean's reassuring gaze to the nasty looking blades held in his hand and his wings bristled defensively without his permission and completely betrayed the fact that he wasn't at all comfortable showing his back, or his wings, to anyone holding a weapon; no matter how good their intentions.

The realization of what his body language was saying was not lost on Dean and Castiel could tell the exact moment the hunter realized what he wasn't saying.  His broad shoulders drooped a little and fine lines of both hurt and surprise etched themselves into his handsome face.

“I'm sorry.”  For some reason, Castiel felt the need to apologize, though for what he wasn't sure.  All he knew was that he didn't want Dean to look at him with that expression for a second longer.  “I've never...I'm not...”  He struggled to explain what he was feeling, wanted to tell Dean just what it meant for an angel to have their wings manifested like this, but he couldn't find the words; he wasn't entirely sure what it was that he was feeling in the first place.  It had been thousands of years since he'd last had to worry about the vulnerability of his wings and last time he hadn't been alone – without the protection of his brothers and sisters.

The look on Dean's face was still there, despite his poor attempt to dispel it. In fact, Castiel was rather sure it was getting worse.  The taller man huffed what might have been a laugh of disbelief and said quietly, “Cas, I would _never_ hurt you.”  

“I know.”  He rushed to reassure.  “I know.”  His eyes darted down to the scissors and then back up to Dean's face before he slowly turned around, every muscle in his body and wings taut as a bow string.

When he felt the hunter's hand between his shoulder blades he jumped even though the hunter was being so gentle that the pressure from his hand was barely there, just enough to let Castiel know where his hand was.

“Ok, I'm gonna start with the right side.”  He was informed.

True to his word, Castiel felt the hunter's hand slide down to the base of his right wing and a finger hooked under the torn fabric surrounding the soft downy feathers. He felt the Dean tug the coat away from his body just far eough to slide the scissors in and, with the first sounds of the steel tearing through the fabric, Castiel felt his eye twitch nervously, every instinct telling him to turn around and not only melt those scissors into scrap metal but to smite the fucker holding them.  

Luckily, Dean made short work of the whole thing and only a few moments later Castiel was pulling off  the trenchcoat, suit jacket and dress shirt and leaning on the counter by the sink, wings pulled in to his sides and glaring at the hunter over the edges of dark feathers.  

“Get those away from me before I turn them into scrap metal.”

With a partially aborted grin, Dean tossed them onto the table and held up his empty hands.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead took a moment to consider what exactly it was that he was feeling.  The anxious flutter in his chest and the nervous tremor in his muscles was an unexpected reaction to having his wings exposed like they were.  He had never before manifested them without at least one of his brothers or sisters around and it left him feeling incredibly...vulnerable.

And of course that probably meant that Dean believed it was him personally that Castiel mistrusted, though that in and of itself was so absurd that the angel didn't even know how to begin to correct the man.

Just as he opened his mouth to at least attempt to reassure the man, Sam reappeared in the main room.

Castiel saw his brown eyes sweep over his wings and they bristled again.  He pulled them close to his sides and willed the feathers to lay flat, heat rising in his face.

“Good to go?”  Dean asked, effectively redirecting Sam's focus.

The taller man gave a nod and smiled softly at Cas.  “I cleaned out one of the rooms so you can get some rest.”  His eyes fell to his blood soaked torso and it was only then that Castiel remembered that the reason he was standing by the sink in the first place was because he was filthy.

After he'd gotten the worst of the blood and grim off his skin and feathers, the whole while cursing the witch to the deepest bowels of hell for depleting his grace with her stupid wards, Castiel had just enough energy to drag his feet to the bedroom Dean pointed to and shut the door behind him.

There was a single bed pushed against the wall with a pile of blankets laid out haphazardly on top.  He eyed the set up dubiously, knowing that there was no way he'd be able to lay down and have his wings fit comfortably.  So he grasped the edge of the blankets and pulled them to the floor, grabbing the few pillows from the bed and tossing them to the ground as well.  

It looked terribly uncomfortable and he raised his hand, chastising himself even before he called upon his weakened grace.  He shouldn't strain himself in the state he was in for such a trivial thing, but he was so tired and the call of a comfortable place to rest his head was so enticing...

When he collapsed, it was into a pile of fluffy pillows and soft sheets.

* * *

 

There was no way to know how much time had passed when Castiel next regained consciousness.  He had hazy memories of waking to darkness outside the small window in the room and to sunlight.  There was a vague recollection of the door opening and closing once or twice and a silhouette of what he hoped had been either Sam or Dean hovering in the doorway.  He remembered waking to an ache in his wing and rolling over to stretch them out before falling back into unconsciousness.

This time when he woke, it was dark outside the window; not the darkness of night but that of a looming storm.  He sighed, waiting for the grogginess of sleep to leave him while the first raindrops pattered against the glass in the wall over his head.

A rumble of thunder sounded not too far off and the angel sat up with a groan, limbs heavy and muscles stiff.

When he stumbled into the main room, the smell of rain, damp earth, and clean air was the first thing he noticed and he inhaled the scent through his nose, grateful that it had replaced the stale, dusty smell from before.  The next thing he noticed was that the door was open a crack and muffled voices could be heard on the porch.  

His feet were bare and soundless when he walked across the old floor boards, their well-worn surface cool under his skin.  He realized then that he was wearing a pair of Dean's pajama pants and tried to recall if he'd put them on himself or if one of the brothers had done it.  He supposed it didn't matter and was just grateful he was no longer wearing the dirty slacks.

Silently, he moved to the door with the intention of making sure that the people outside were just Sam and Dean, but when he heard the elder hunter's voice he stopped and listened.

“You should have seen the way he looked at me, man.”  Dean was saying in a low voice; Cas could envision him shaking his head as he spoke.  “It's like he thought as soon as he turned his back I was gonna clip his wings or something.”  The man's voice was wounded, a far cry from the mildly upset look Castiel had read on his face when presented with the rusty scissors, and he frowned, leaning closer to the door.

“Dean, chill out, ok?”  Sam said, his voice gentle.  “He'd just gotten beaten near to death saving our asses...he was pretty out of it.”  There was a lull of silence before the younger man continued.  “Besides, I read that an angel's wings are like a physical manifestation of their actual grace, which means that an injury to them could be a big problem.  Not turning his back on a guy holding a rusty pair of scissors is probably ingrained into his instincts.”

Dean sighed.  “Yeah, I guess you're right.”  

The man sounded far from convinced but he wasn't all that sure how he could reassure him.  After all they had been through surely Dean wasn't suddenly doubting Castiel's trust in him over his reluctance to turn his back on a pair of rusty scissors.

He turned from the door and moved into the kitchen, the itch of thirst in the back of his throat which was a pretty good indication that his grace had not replenished itself yet.  He scowled into the glass of water he poured himself, partially regretting using his grace to conjure up more pillows and blankets and partially wanting to go fling himself back into the nest he'd made.  

He gulped down the water, put the glass in the sink and made a beeline for the bedroom but nearly jumped a foot in the air when Sam's voice was suddenly in the room with him.

“Hey, you're up!”  

His wings flared out in surprise as he turned and he pulled them back against his body with a glower.  It was easy for him to keep emotion off his face but his wings were a different story.  They made him more of an open book then he'd like.

Sam must have mistaken his glare, though, and froze up in the doorway, blocking his brother from entering the cabin.

“Er, sorry.  Didn't mean to scare you.”

“Dude, get out of the way,” grumbled Dean, shoving his brother forward and into the room.  When he caught sight of Cas, his green eyes flicked to stare over his shoulder, his gaze undeniably curious, and the angel pulled his wings tight against his back, making the ebony feathers lie as flat as possible to try and make the appendages look smaller.

He averted his eyes, feeling heat rise in his cheeks, incredibly unused to having his wings visible around anyone other than a handful of his brothers and sisters; an uncontrollable display of his emotions, out in the open for everyone to see.

Dean clearing his throat cut through the tense atmosphere and made him raise his eyes from the floor.  

“You hungry, Cas?”  

It was on obvious invitation to change the subject but it made him frown non the less, recognizing at once the empty feeling in his stomach for what it was.  “Yes.  I think so.”

The elder hunter threw a look over his shoulder as he pulled open the ancient fridge, the hinges crackling with rust and disuse.   “You want a burger?  I'm gonna make some.”

Soon enough, the smell of cooking meat had permeated the little cabin and the ache in Castiel's stomach had deepened to the point where it was the only thing he could think about  He sat in front of the open fire place, legs stretched out and crossed in front of him, hands braced on the rug behind him and wings relaxed over his shoulders, the warmth from the fireplace making him feel sleepy.  If it wasn't for the gnawing hunger he'd likely have fallen asleep again right there on the floor.

The sound of paper scraping over paper when Sam turned a page in his book made his eyes snap open and his wings twitch as he jerked back in to full consciousness.  He threw himself backwards onto the surprisingly soft rug and stretched his wings out across the floor as much as he could, given the small space.  It didn't ease the stiffness of the muscles much and he was barely able to unfold them half way before the long flight feathers where curling up the sides of the chairs either side of the fire place.  

He grumbled, pulling them back towards his body and rolling over onto his side, his left wing underneath him like a feathery mattress, and the other against his side like a blanket.  Within minutes, the intense heat of the fire - he was sitting much closer than a human could bear - had soaked through his feathers and was making his eyes heavy once more.

But, just as sleep pulled him down, Dean's voice cut through his groggy brain like a chain saw and pulled him back.

“Food's ready!”

He rolled on to his knees slowly, grudgingly, wishing his grace wasn't so depleted that he needed to eat because, quite frankly, all he really wanted to do was sleep for about ten years.  Luckily, he didn't have to get off the floor and a plate with a delicious looking hamburger was thrust before his face when he was still trying to muster the energy to stand up.

“Jeez, Cas, you're like a friggin' furnace!”  Dean cried when the angel took the plate and their fingers brushed.  The man's large hand was instantly pressing against his forehead, worry lines creasing around his eyes.  “Sam, he's burning up!”

Mild annoyance could be felt through the warm feeling Dean's concern had stirred up and Castiel gently pushed the man's hand away.  “Dean, I'm fine.”

“The hell you are, Cas, your skin is so hot I can hardly touch it!”

Sam had stood from the table and had come to stand beside his brother, looking mildly concerned.

He stared up at them for a moment longer, the plate of food still in his hands, before sitting cross-legged and turning his back to them with a muttered.  “I'm fine.”

He could almost feel both sets of eyes staring at the back of his head and he hunched his shoulders up, the joints in his wings rising with them and pressing soft against his ears.  “Stop staring at me.”  He grumbled through a mouthful of burger.

“Cas, you've got a fever or something, I'm not just gonna-”

With the patience of a saint, Castiel set his plate on the floor in front of him and stood to turn and regard the elder hunter.  

“Dean.  I am not sick, I am just tired.  Angels run hot and when our batteries are drained, as you say, our grace isn't as strong and it feels...cold,” he said, trying his best to explain.  “The warmth of the fire is simply comforting to me.  The hotter the better, actually.  Stop worrying.  I could sit right in the flames and it wouldn't damage me.”

The hunter blinked at him a few times before he muttered a soft, “oh” and a visible blush began to work its way up his neck.

He turned back to his spot in front of the fire, his mouth watering just at the thought of taking another bite of the burger, and reclaimed his seat, scooting a bit closer to the grate and spreading his wings slightly to catch the heat.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, with both brothers spread out on a sofa, Sam reading some dusty book he'd found lying around and Dean watching the television on low with a half interested gaze.

Castiel had remained in front of the fire place, accepting an armful of blankets from Sam just after supper and bunching them up on the floor to lay on.  With the softness of the makeshift nest under him and the heat from the roaring fire, which Dean had dutifully stoked with new logs every time it started to die down, Castiel had fallen asleep quickly.

When he woke again, it was dark outside the dirty cabin windows and the television had been turned off; the only sound was the crackle and pop of the fireplace still burning strong in the grate.  He took stock of himself, noticing at once that he felt less groggy and his muscles weren't as stiff as they had been, though he believed the heat might have had something to do with it.  

He rolled onto his back and stared at the dark ceiling, the only light source in the room that which was coming from the hearth.

Out of instinct, he tried again to stretch his wings, making a small sound of disappointment when they once again were impeded by the furniture around him, and pulled them back against his body, absently running his fingers through a tangle of feathers to straighten them out.

“Sleep well?”

The sudden sound of Dean's voice startled him, though the hunter's tone was hushed, and Castiel rolled up into a crouch, heart pounding and wings fanned low before he realized there was absolutely no threat and he pulled the appendages back in embarrassment.

Dean was wide eyed but grinning where he sat on the end of the sofa and a chuckle wobbled uncertainly past his lips.  “Sorry, man, didn't mean to scare you.”

The heat of the fire was intense at Castiel’s back, “I...thought I was alone.”  The spot of tangled feathers itched unpleasantly, demanding his attention.

“Oh, don't let me stop you,” Dean smirked, picking up the book in his lap.  He didn't look down at it though but continued to watch the angel closely.

For the first time in a long time, Castiel felt uneasy around the man and unsure of what to do with himself.  For some reason he did not care to investigate, being alone with Dean and knowing the hunter could see his wings made him feel strange.  Exposed.

The uncertainty he was feeling must have shown, for the hunter's face suddenly fell and he tossed the book onto the end table, leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and fixed Castiel with a stern gaze.

“Alright, talk to me, man.  What's got you so...”  He waved around one of his large hands, apparently searching for the right word, “...shy?”

The angel blinked owlishly back at him.  Was he being shy?  Is that what he was feeling?  “I...I don't know why.  An angel’s wings are...”  Delicate was not the right word, “Vulnerable.”  He supposed would work.  “It makes me...nervous.”  

Dean's handsome face suddenly lost most of its colour; he looked stricken. “You think me or Sam will hurt you?”

“No!”  He rushed to reassure, dismayed that he was apparently so terrible at communicating that he was giving the entirely wrong impression.  He itched to stand and go to the man but remained stubbornly seated on the floor, memories of their talk in the bar leading him to believe Dean likely wanted to keep some space between them. “No, of course not.  I just – I'm not -”  He sighed sharply through his nose, looking away from Dean's confused eyes and wishing he could find the right words to explain himself.  “It would be like having your heart on the outside of your body instead of within the protection of your rib cage.”  He said as a last ditch effort to try and make the other man understand.

Finally Dean's expression cleared and the lines around his eyes softened in understanding.  “Oh...ok yeah, I can see why that would make you nervous.”

His gentle smile turned into a grimace when his feathers puffed in delight and knots in several places tugged uncomfortably.  He twisted immediately to comb his fingers roughly through the closest knot, a clump of downy-soft feathers close to his body, the need to straighten the feathers twitching under his skin.

Once he got it sorted he sighed in mild relief before moving on to the next spot, curling his wing around in front of him to reach it.  

Several minutes passed in blissful silence while Castiel sorted out the worst of the knots and then reached deftly behind him to run his fingers over the small gland at the base of his right wing, immediately feeling the warm oil coat his fingers.  The crackling fire was nothing more than gentle sound in the hazy background of Castiel's awareness as he set about grooming his wings with practised movements, fingers sliding along each feather quickly and carefully.  The task was comforting in its familiarity and there was just something incredibly calming about grooming his wings and, as with any other time, the angel quickly zoned out, the world around him disappearing as he went through the repetitive motions.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Castiel stood and flared his wings, ruffling the feathers, pleased that every single one was sleek and shining in the firelight.  

When he finally tore his eyes away from ogling his own wings he saw Dean sitting stiffly on the couch, eyes narrowed and bottom lip caught tightly between his teeth.

“Are you alright, Dean?”  Castiel asked, mildly concerned about the hunter's strained expression.

“Fine.”  He jerked in his seat on the sofa and then stood swiftly, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  “All good.”  

Castiel watched in growing confusion as Dean stretched his arms over his head and gave what was clearly an exaggerated yawn before announcing abruptly that he was going to bed and suddenly Cas was standing by himself in the sitting room, the only sound the crackling fire behind him and the loud whirlwind of questions swirling around in his head.

He wished he was as good at reading people as Sam was.  That man would have been able to take one look at Dean and known exactly what he was thinking.  Castiel, as usual, had no such talents and so was left feeling lost and confused in the wake of Dean’s sudden departure.

Had he perhaps done something to upset the man?  Maybe having an angel sitting on his floor and grooming his wings was a little too strange?  His face scrunched up, that seemed highly unlikely, given everything Dean had seen and been through.

As he trudged to his own room to grab the extra blankets, he found himself wishing that he had never told Dean about his feelings.  To his credit, though, the hunter seemed to be handling it rather well.  Sure it had been awkward the day after but then they'd gone after that witch crossbreed and everything had seemed to return back to normal.  He might even dare to say that Dean seemed to be...

He tossed the new load of blankets down in front of the fire, dropping to his knees to arrange them how he wanted.  

Dean seemed to be more...attentive?  Observant?  Whatever it was it was a noticeable change since they'd had the run in with that witch and her hell puppies.  It seemed like every time Castiel looked, Dean was already staring at him - asking if he was hungry, comfortable, feeling alright.  

He pushed at the edges of the blankets with the joint of his left wing a little moodily, fluffing them up before crashing down into them, wiggling around until he was comfortable and nearly buried in the nest of linens and pillows.

It was a long time before he fell asleep, staring into the flames of the fire and trying to decode Dean Winchester's insufferably confusing body language.

* * *

Hours later, just about when the sun's rays would have been struggling to cut through the darkness, Castiel was awoken by a bone rattling crack of thunder.

His head popped out of the mound of blankets at the sound, wings struggling under the weight of them, and he stared around the dark room, startled.  The fire had long since died, casting the room in darkness, but within seconds of the deafening boom of thunder, the soft glow of candle light was visible as Sam stumbled into the room blearily, a single candle in his hand to light his way.

“Sam?”

The tall man visibly jumped and spun around to face Cas, lifting the candle a little higher and squinting into the dim light it provided.

“Cas?  What are you doing sleeping out here?”  He asked, taking a few steps closer to where the angel was cocooned in his nest of blankets.

Sam grinned widely when he spotted Cas in his nest on the floor, gaze soft and fond while he watched the angel struggle to untangle himself from the snarl of blankets he'd wrapped himself in.

“I wanted to stay by the fire.”  Cas explained, finally pulling his wing free of one of the sheets and shaking it out to settle the feathers again.

A flash of lightning momentarily lit up the room like a flood light, leaving him blinking, and was followed by another clap of thunder that rattled the windows.

“Here,” said Sam, setting the candle down on the coffee table and moving to the pile of wood stacked by the door, “Let's get the fire going again.”

He watched silently as Sam got the fire roaring and dusted off his hands, glancing behind him to where Castiel sat cross-legged on his pile of blankets before standing up slowly.  But suddenly Castiel felt a need to talk to the man - about his stupid brother - and he grabbed Sam's hand and yanked him down to sit beside him, waiting for his startled look to clear.

“This is pretty comfy, actually,” said the taller man, pushing at the blankets with one large hand.

Castiel watched him with pursed lips, resisting the urge to bat his hand away from the carefully arranged blankets and instead brought the tip of one wing around to run his fingers through the feathers nervously.  He and Sam had not been alone together since the night Sam had convinced him to tell Dean how he felt about him and Castiel had been eager to talk about the disastrous result, hoping the man might be able to shed some light on what he'd done wrong.

“Where is Dean?”  He asked, just to be sure.

Sam snorted a laugh. “He doesn't like to admit it, but Dean could sleep through a tornado ripping through the cabin.  He'll wake up if a monster sneezes within a two mile radius but no way would a storm wake him.”

Castiel nodded, nerves making his stomach clench and he pulled his wing closer, combing his fingers through the long flight feathers and pressing his cheek to the smaller, softer feathers on the ridge of bone.

When he looked back up, Sam's large brown eyes were watching him closely and, unlike Dean, he did not seem to be embarrassed about being caught staring.  He blinked owlishly at the young Winchester but the man held his gaze, eyes darting every so often down to where his fingers were carding through his feathers.

“Sam?”  He finally asked.

“Sorry,” said Sam at once, eyes snapping back up with a grin.  “Not every day that you get to observe an angel just...being himself.”  His smile turned gentle, “Sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.  It's just...kind of fascinating.”

He sensed that the man had questions. Sam had that same look on his face that he had whenever he learned something new or walked into a library.  A flash of lighting outside the windows only seemed to highlight the eager spark in his brown eyes, but Castiel was concerned that this would be his only chance to talk to him alone for some time and he wanted to get the conversation out of the way.  The thought of having to go on wondering about Dean and where they stood left him with a cold feeling in his gut that was incredibly unpleasant.

“I wanted to ask you about Dean,” the angel said, drawing comfort from the feel of his silky feathers against his skin.  

Sam's smile fell and he gave a resolute nod.  After a moment of silence, in which another, less aggressive rumble of thunder sounded, he looked up and said with utter conviction.  “I stand by what I said at that bar, Cas.”

He looked up, surprised by Sam's insightfulness.  “You do?”

“Yes. I do.  Dean's an idiot.  I know that.  You know that.  Even _he_ knows that.”  His eyes fell to where Castiel was still absently running his fingers through his feathers.  “Dean...”  He bit his lip, eyes flashing to the open doorway that lead down the hall to the bedrooms and bathroom.  “Dean will come around.  He might just need a kick in the pants.”  He scoffed.  “And I think the run in with that witch was just the thing he needed to admit how he feels about you.”

Now, Castiel felt more confused than reassured and he frowned up at the taller man.  “The witch?  What part did she have to play in all this?”

Sam just stared at him for a second as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not.  “Man, we thought we were gonna lose you.”  His eyes turned sad and he dropped his gaze to where he was fiddling with the corner of one of the blankets.  “You were in bad shape.  Really bad shape.”

The angel was unsure of what to say.  He had been unaware of just how badly he'd been injured.  The fight itself was foggy in his memory, but evidently, if it had been bad enough to rattle the Winchesters then it must have been pretty bad.

“Anyway,” Sam continued, shaking his head a little.  “Dean was a wreck on the car ride here.  He kept calling your name and every time you didn't respond I swear he broke a little more.  I've never seen him so upset.”  

When Sam looked up again, Castiel dropped his gaze, unable to hold it under the intense weight of the revelation that Dean was apparently devastated by his brush with death.  

“Not to mention all he kept saying was how you'd done it all to save our asses and if you died because of that he'd never forgive himself.  I'm telling you man, he was near hysterical.  It took me an hour to talk him out of going after her to finish the job.”

Well, that was rather a lot of information to take in, Castiel thought.  He'd been unsure of Dean's feelings for him ever since the night he'd been vehemently rejected, but he also knew it wasn't as clean cut as Dean pretended it to be.  There was clearly something there but the elder hunter seemed reluctant to admit it, even to himself.  Although, as Sam said, the incident with the witch had changed something; even Cas had noticed the difference in the way Dean was looking at him, looking after him and generally being just...softer around the edges.

“Do you think it's because I'm an angel?”  He asked.

Sam blinked at him.  “What?”

“Do you think he struggles with admitting his feelings for me because I'm an angel?  I know that inter-species relationships are something of a sore point for humans.”  Castiel clarified.

He wasn't sure why Sam was suddenly blushing and ducking his head, unwilling to meet his eyes.  “Uhh...I honestly don't know, Cas.  I mean it could be but I doubt it.”

He bit his lip, “When I was grooming my wings earlier, he ran from the room.  He seemed uncomfortable.”

It was Sam looking uncomfortable now.  “I don't think he was uncomfortable for the reasons you think.”  He rubbed at one of his eyes, “But I really think you should be talking to Dean about this it's a bit, er, personal now.”

“But what do you mean?  Uncomfortable how?”  Castiel insisted, not understanding.  

Sam's mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to get any words out.  “I-”

“What are you guys doin' up?”

Dean's groggy voice made both of them twist around to stare at him where he stood in the doorway leading into the hall.

“I could ask the same of you.”  Sam said smoothly, looking relieved at the interruption.

Dean sneered at his brother and shuffled across the room to get a beer from the fridge and soon was sitting down on the pile of blankets on the other side of Cas, who was sitting tense and still carding his fingers through his feathers.

“Storm wake you guys?”  Dean asked conversationally, staring into the fire, beer unopened in his hand.  

At this point, Castiel thought that maybe getting a beer out of the fridge was just a habit, as he often did it and never opened the bottle.

“Yes.”  They chorused awkwardly together.

Suddenly Dean's eyes turned to the wing that was between them, the one Cas was running his fingers through, and his free hand darted out to brush his fingertips over the ridge of bone.

It was like someone zapped him with electricity and Castiel yelped at the unexpected feel of Dean's hand on him and jerked away, pushing into Sam's side as he stared wide eyed over the edge of his wing at Dean's equally startled expression.

“I'm sorry!”  The elder hunter cried, both hands held up before him as if to prove to Cas he wasn't going to touch him again.  “I'm sorry, Cas.”  He repeated.

Sam's hand was on his back, resting between his wings, careful not to touch, holding him upright.

“No, it's alright,” Cas said after a moment, the lingering feel of...not unpleasant sparks tingling along his nerve endings.

“Did I hurt you?”  Dean asked, looking upset at the very thought.

Castiel rushed to reassure him as best he could while still trying to get himself under control.  His heart was fluttering furiously in his chest.  “No.  No it just caught me off guard.  An angel's wings are very sensitive.”

He shook off Sam's hands and pushed himself up on shaky legs, trying to ignore the wounded look on Dean's face.

“Cas...”  Dean trailed off when he moved away from them and towards the door.

“It's fine, Dean. I just need some air.”

Castiel tried not to seem like he was rushing to escape the cabin but he was sure he failed when he opened the door so quickly that it bounced off the wall behind it.  When he stepped out onto the rickety porch he took a grateful breath of air, feeling his head clear almost immediately.

The rain had lightened to a drizzle and the early morning sun was trying hard to break through the canopy of dark grey cloud cover, but to no avail. A low rumble of thunder rolled over his head; the storm was not going to go without a fight, it seemed.  He looked off towards the woods that surrounded the small cabin and could see thick mist hanging suspended close to the ground, curling up moss covered tree trunks that were dark from the rain.

Glancing over his shoulder once, Castiel descended the stairs and made his way towards the woods, the damp grass cool on his bare feet.  The need to be by himself was strong and he walked deeper and deeper into the woods, the early morning mist swirling gently around his legs as he walked on the soft moss covering the forest floor.  Eventually, he came to a clearing in the trees and was finally able to stretch his wings fully.  He reached upwards with an appreciative groan, the tips of his longest flight feathers straining into the murky sky.

The sound of a twig snapping off to his left made the angel turn and he peered into the gloomy mist of the line of trees at the edge of the clearing, wings flaring outward and feathers standing on end threateningly.  It was several seconds later when he noticed the pair of yellow eyes staring at him curiously through the mist.

* * *

“Dean, would you just relax?”

He ignored his brother and continued to pace back and forth from the sitting room to the kitchen, around the table and back again, angrily sucking back the rest of the beer in his hand.

“How can I relax, man, you saw the way he tore out of here!”  He shook his head, “Like my touch fucking burned him or something.”  He shook his head, feeling something cold twisting around in his stomach like a snake.

“Have you considered that maybe your touch didn't hurt him but just overwhelmed him?”  Sam said, still sitting on Cas' nest of blankets.  “He said his wings are sensitive, he wasn't expecting the contact and probably hasn't had human hands on his wings like, ever.” He shrugged.  “You probably just caught him off guard.”

Dean had at least stopped pacing and seemed to be contemplating his brother's theory.

“Maybe next time just ask before you molest him.”  Sam couldn't help it, the urge to get a dig in was just ingrained in him too strongly.  

Dean could feel his face turning red.  “I didn't _molest_ him.  His feathers just looked really soft and I wanted to...”  He trailed off, suddenly aware of what he was saying and the fact that his little brother was grinning broadly at him.  “Shut up.”

“So when are you gonna get your shit together and tell Cas how you feel about him?”

“What the hell, Sam?!”

“You know, he thinks you’re hung up on it because he's an angel.”  Sam's smile dropped and he fixed his brother with an intense stare.  “Is that why you won't admit it?  Because he's not human?”

“Sam...”

“Or is it because he's a guy?  Are you really so worried about his gender?  Because I know you've-”

“For Christ's sake, Sam...”

He'd stood up by now and was standing in front of his brother, very much in his personal space.  Dean's face was still red but now it was anger pumping the blood up against his skin instead of embarrassment.

“No Dean, tell me.  What the hell is your problem?  It's obvious that you two have feelings for each other, I'd even go so far as to say you lo-”

“I'd be no good for him!”  Dean shouted suddenly, the words flinging themselves from his mouth without his permission.  He blinked a few times, but then accepted the slip up for what it was.

If anything, he felt the tight knot of worry in his stomach ease a little.  He knew that Sam already knew – the jerk just always seemed to know these things somehow – and the fact that he'd admitted it was simply icing on the cake for his little brother.  If he was honest with himself, though, Dean would admit that Sam always had something useful to say in these situations.  He might even admit that he was eager to see if his brother had any advice on how he could clean up his mess.

Silence filled the room after his admission, as thick and suffocating as cement, while the two stared at one another, both shocked that Dean had spoken at all.  The elder hunter cleared his throat and his eyes found his shoes.

“I...wouldn't be any good for him,” he repeated quietly and then he looked back up at his brother with a bitter smile.  “Cas is an angel, Sam.  He's good and pure and...and I'd just corrupt him.”

Sam just stared back at, his mouth hanging open, for several long seconds before he could finally manage to form a sentence.  “You really think so little of yourself?  You think _Cas_ thinks so little of you?”

But Dean merely shook his head and avoided his brother's gaze by looking resolutely out the nearest window into the gloomy morning rain, his jaw set stubbornly.  “You can't honestly think that Cas would want someone like me,” he muttered.  “Some piece of shit monster he had to pry away from the torture rack in hell.”

“God, you really are unbelievable.”  Sam snapped, coming to stand well within his brother's personal space bubble so that he could lean in as close to his ear as possible without his lips touching it.  

“CAS. FUCKING. LOVES. YOU!”  He screamed, making sure to pronounce each word separately.  

Dean had jerked away from him immediately, of course, and was now staring at his little brother with an expression that read somewhere between mild concern and moderate confusion.

“Sam-”

“No!”  The taller brother cried, genuine anger written all over his face.  “No!  I'm done with you and your bullshit!”  He plucked the empty beer from Dean's hand, ignoring his bewildered look, and manhandled him over to the door of the cabin.

“Sam!  Lemme go, man!”  Dean struggled against his monstrous brother's hold on him to no avail.

He was tossed through the open door unceremoniously, managed to stumble down the stairs without causing any damage to himself, and then spun to stare up at his brother standing tall in the open doorway, incomprehension visible in every line of his body.

“Go find your damn angel and don't bother coming back until the two of have...worked out your damn issues!”

Sam grabbed Dean's boots from where they sat by the door, chucked them down the few rickety steps and then slammed the door resolutely in his face and Dean made it back up the stairs just as he heard the lock slide into place.  He pounded his fist on the door.

“Sam!  Man, it's fucking raining!  Open the door you douche bag!”

The only answer he got was the sound of a large piece of furniture being dragged into place in front of the door.

With a disbelieving huff, Dean shook his head and turned back to look out into the drizzle and swirling mist and stomped off into the line of trees to the side of the cabin.  He was in no way being graceful as he moved through the woods, each angry stomp of his foot crushing fallen leaves and twigs loudly so that he sounded more like a moose blundering through the trees instead of a stealthy hunter.

The pre-dawn light was still struggling to cut through the overcast sky and touch the earth but Dean felt grateful for the illusion of an extended night; everything always seemed so harsh in the light of day, and no more so than the light of morning.  There was just something about it, like the sun lit up all your secrets and chased away any shadows to hide in.

He didn't like it.

But this – his steps softened and his pace slowed and he took a moment to take in the heavy silence of the humid forest.  Even the birds seemed to be having a lie in and had not yet started to sing.   When he glanced down at his feet, curls of dense mist clung to his jeans, now dark with dampness from the dew that had soaked them through.

With an exasperated sigh, Dean stopped walking and squinted into the dim light, trying to see if there were any signs that Castiel had passed this way.  A footprint in the soft green moss or a broken branch on a sapling, anything.  But of course there was nothing.  Cas was an angel after all, he probably just floated through the woods, the edges of his holy trench coat gently caressing plants as he drifted past.

The mental image that gave him lightened Dean's mood considerably; enough, even, to make his lips twitch into a smile as he picked up walking in the same direction again.

His thoughts had just begun to wander into the dangerous territory of the logic behind his brother's angry words when a loud grunt off in the distance ahead of him caused him to stumble to a halt, every muscle taut and still, ears straining to catch any other noises.

For a moment there was nothing and then he heard it again.  This time more clearly, now that he wasn't moving, and the harsh grunt made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  

That had definitely sounded like a bear.  

He swallowed and hesitated.  Ghosts and demons he could deal with but massive wild animals with fangs?  No way.  But he froze in a half turn when he heard another sound.  It was unfamiliar; unlike anything he'd heard from an animal, but reminded him vaguely of a show he'd seen about dolphins on the Discovery channel once. Kind of like a series of rapid clicks, but their depth was staggered, some so high he almost couldn't hear them and others so low that they rattled the voice box of whatever was making the noises.

Curiosity, as it often did, seemed to be doing a rather good job of smothering the instincts telling him to run and Dean found he had taken a few more steps towards the clicking sounds and soon found himself at the edge of a clearing, pushing branches out of the way to see.

The light had gained some strength but the hunter still found himself squinting in confusion at the breathing heap in the tall, wet grass before him.  Whatever it was, was a good fifty feet away and was comprised of mostly fuzzy brown hair and something darker that glimmered in the gentle light cutting through the mist.

The one extra step he took to try and see the figure more clearly was one step too many and the sound of a twig snapping under his boot caused the continuous clicking to cut off immediately and the head of what Dean now knew to one hundred percent be a grizzly bear to pop up with a startled growl.  

The giant animal reared up onto its hind legs almost immediately and Dean stumbled back.  It stood eight feet tall and threatened him with an angry roar, drool flying from its sharp teeth.

But before it could even take a step towards him, Cas was suddenly there, sliding smoothly out from behind the enraged beast with a mildly amused look on his face.  Dean watched incredulously as Castiel placed one of his hands against the beast's back and it instantly calmed.  

It merely sniffed the air curiously and then slouched back to all fours and turned to butt its enormous fuzzy head gently against the angel's shirtless abdomen.  Cas scratched behind its ears with a small smile and with every happy puff from the content bear, Dean felt his heart rate lower and eventually he was calm enough to speak without his voice shaking with adrenaline.

“Uh...Cas?  You make a new friend?”

The angel's head snapped up, almost like he'd forgotten Dean was there, and his wings puffed outwards in delight.

“Yes!”  He gestured for the hunter to come forward.  “Her name is Aga,” he explained while Dean took tentative steps towards the angel and his now calm, yet still terrifying, forest friend.  “It means 'Mother'.”

The hunter stopped within a few feet and held his ground when the bear pressed its cold nose into the palm of his proffered hand, trying his best not to let it shake.  All things aside, he wasn't about to let Cas know a big fuzzy ball with teeth was making him nervous.

“So, um, is making animal friends a habit of yours?”  He asked when the bear finally seemed to decide he was not a threat and rolled over onto its back with a groan.  

“I enjoy spending time with all of my father's creations,” said the angel, his expression gentle and fond when he glanced down at Aga.  “Some more than others.”

Dean's gaze snapped up from the bear to stare curiously into Castiel's blue eyes and under the soft yet piercing gaze, his conversation with Sam and the reason he was out here in the woods in the first place came crashing back over him.

He cleared his throat, the sound quite loud in the stillness of the clearing, and the bear jerked in surprise, squinting up at him.  

“So, uh.  Sam made me, er, I mean I just came to find you to say I was sorry for...like...”  He trailed off and made a grabby motion with one of his hands while gesturing to the angel's wings.

He was surprised when the angel did not tuck them close to his back like he had been, though he saw some of the feathers closer to his body twitch as if he were fighting the impulse.

“You really did nothing wrong.  It's just that it was the first time anyone had touched my wings while they were manifested on earth.”  His blue eyes blinked owlishly.  “I had not expected it and they are very sensitive.”  

Right now, Castiel's wings were hanging relaxed but close to his body and the tips of some of the longer feathers were just tickling Aga's ears.  They flicked a few times but when the irritation did not let up, she squinted and licked at the feather tips playfully.

Cas' attention was immediately on her and he grinned, pulling his wing up out of her reach until she swiped lazily at it with one huge paw.

“Well, I'm still sorry.”

Something like a knot of worry was loosening in Dean's chest before he'd even known it was there.  “So, uh, what do you say we head back to the cabin?  Sam's gonna have my head if I come back without you.”  

“Can Aga come?”  The angel asked, flicking the bear's ear with the tip of his wing.

The beast grunted loudly and rolled over to sit up, tall enough that she was looking down at Cas.

“Yeah, that's probably not a good idea, Cas,” Dean said, not really sure why he felt guilty when the angel's face fell a little. They couldn't just have a giant bear in the cabin, after all.

They left Aga behind, but not before Cas spent ten more minutes scratching behind her ears and placing a kiss on her big wet nose, at which she gave a huff and licked a stripe up his face.  

Dean smiled when his angel giggled, honest to god giggled, and wiped his face with his forearm, but when that dolphin like clicking noise suddenly reached his ears again his head snapped up from where he'd been digging a hole in the ground with the toe of his shoe.

He was shocked to realize that the noises were coming from Cas.  The angel had his head bowed to press his forehead to Aga's and they were both still for a moment before breaking apart and the angel watched the bear saunter off back into the trees.

“What was that?”  Dean asked when the angel reached his side.

“What was what?”

“That clicking noise.”

For a moment Castiel did not reply but simply stared at him with a frown and the hunter was suddenly worried that perhaps Castiel hadn't made any noises and the clicking was in his own head.  That would be just his luck, after all he'd managed to survive, he was going nuts.

“You could hear me?”  The angel asked at length, his expression guarded.

He shrugged, more than a little relieved that the noises hadn't only been his imagination.  “Yeah.”

“Let’s...”  Castiel's blue eyes left his face and fixed on a point somewhere just beyond his shoulder.  “Let's go back to the cabin.”

The angel breezed past him, bare feet silent as he moved, and Dean was left standing there, confused, the chill of his wet pajama pants sticking to his ankles.

* * *

When they got back to the small log cabin, the light had finally managed to break through the cloud cover and was dotting the surrounding forest with broken beams of light.

When Castiel stepped out of the trees in front of him, that sunlight hit his wings and reflected the light so intensely for a moment that Dean had to squint and turn his face away.  But then it was gone and he was left staring at the angel's impressive wingspan in the full light of day for the first time.  In the cabin and the woods the light had been dim and did not do the appendages justice.

His feathers were dark, blacker than coal along the ridge of bone, and then gradually lightened a few shades down the backs of the wings and some of the flight feathers were actually steel grey.  They were intimidating and beautiful and when Castiel flexed them powerfully in a single beat, Dean felt his stomach do a little flip.

He followed closely behind the angel, watching as the feathers rose up, fluffing out, before he ruffled his wings and everything settled.  Just like a bird, he thought with a small smile.

Castiel had to tuck his wings in close so that he could fit through the door.

“Hey Cas,” Dean heard his brother say, sounding a little relieved.  “You shouldn't wander off like that when you're injured.”

Dean came through the door just in time to see the angel scowl at his brother.  “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I meant more because I was worried sick.”  

“Oh, don't worry,” Dean interjected smugly.  “Cas made a new friend.”

“A friend?”

Cas had already dived into his nest of blankets again and his voice was muffled when he said, “Her name is Aga.”

“You met someone in the woods?”  Sam looked mildly concerned so Dean was quick to reassure him.

“No, no.  Aga is a grizzly bear,” He informed his brother with a smile.  Sam looked no less concerned.  “I know that because I got to meet her too.”

Sam's lips twitched in a valiant effort to refrain from grinning.  

“I am _so_ sorry I missed that.” Sam teased, looking over to where Castiel was still rearranging his blankets with a dark expression - likely because Sam had messed them up somehow - before he cleared his throat loudly and announced, “Well now that you two are back I'm going to the grocery store.”

Dean gave a start and tore his gaze away from where the angel finally seemed to be getting his nest thing under control and turned to stare at his brother.  There was something like a seed of panic starting to take root in Dean's stomach because he knew the look on his brother's face exactly for what it was.  Even so, his gut still twisted when Sam mouthed the words 'talk to him' as he grabbed the keys and escaped through the still open door of the cabin with a hurried goodbye to Cas thrown over his shoulder.

When he turned slowly back to the angel, he was on his knees staring at the closed door with a small frown of concern over Sam's abrupt departure, a white sheet hanging off his wing unnoticed.

Dean clearing his throat nervously drew the angel's attention from the door and onto him and he searched frantically for a safe topic of conversation.  Though, as usual, Cas seemed completely oblivious to Dean's discomfort and merely tugged the sheet off his wing and returned to pushing around the blankets.

He took a few steps closer to the fireplace, knowing that his stupid brother was right.  This dance between him and Cas couldn't keep going like it had been.  It wasn't fair to either of them, and if it wasn't for Dean's own issues they could have already been well past this by now.  Cas had taken the first step and fessed up to his feelings and Dean inwardly cringed when he thought back on how terribly he'd handled the confession.

But it had been like a punch to the gut.  He'd resigned himself to burying those feelings for the angel for all eternity, sure that Castiel would never be able return his affections, and then suddenly there he was sitting across a dirty table, turning everything in Dean's world on its head.

And in typical Dean Winchester fashion, he'd responded with anger and some flimsy excuse about only liking women because, at the time, it had seemed like the best plausible excuse Cas might actually believe; because apparently he was incapably of reacting to emotional situations with any kind of rational thought or maturity.

He squared his shoulders and toed off his shoes.  

Well today that was damn well gonna change.

He kicked off his boots and stood beside Cas' nest of blankets and didn't even get to ask before Cas had grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to sit beside him in front of the still roaring fire.

“So uh...you were going to tell me about that clicking noise?”  Dean said, trying not to sound like a nervous teenager talking to his crush.

But it was hard when Castiel suddenly blushed and pulled a wing between them to card his fingers through the feathers in a gesture the hunter was quickly coming to realize was a nervous tic.  He took a moment to marvel at just how much more open and readable Cas was when his wings were visible and added it to his list of questions he'd been meaning to ask the angel.

“It's...I didn't think you'd be able to hear me,” Cas said, not meeting his eye, the colour in his face still present.  “It's another way angels communicate with one another but humans aren't supposed to be able to hear it.  As with anything, though, there are exceptions to the rule, as you often are.  I'm sorry if it's strange.”

Dean shook his head, not wanting Cas to think he couldn't be himself around him and his brother, but the fact that Castiel was not at all human was becoming more and more obvious...and Dean could honestly say he didn't care.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with how important it was that Castiel understood that, remembering that Sam had told him Cas thought that it was because he was an angel that Dean had rejected him.

The other man was babbling on about sonar communication when Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, effectively getting the angel's blue eyes to snap up to his face in question.

“You know I don't care, right?  Er, what I mean to say is Sam kinda told me that you think it freaks me out that you're not human.”

The look on Cas' face told him that he wasn't communicating nearly as effectively as he'd like to and the hunter sighed in frustration.  

“I'm sorry, man.  I'm really not very good at this talking thing.”  It was then that an idea suddenly occurred to him and all the nervousness he was feeling just sort of melted away.  He wasn't good at talking.  He was a _doer_.  Always had been, always would be.  

“Is it alright if I just show you what I mean?”  He knew the angel would say yes, even though he didn't know what it was he was saying yes to.  The gentle tilt of his head confirmed Dean's suspicions but Cas nodded all the same.

So, with a steadying breath, Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas'.

The angel's wings flared out in surprise, the loud whooshing noise covering his gasp, and Dean pulled away, hiding his grin behind his hand.

The angel's cheeks were red and his eyes were wide, the tips of his wings flicking back and forth.

“But you said -” Cas started.

“I was lying,” Dean cut him off, not willing to allow the thought to even take root in the angel's mind.  “I was being stupid, trying to deny what I was feeling for you.”  

He decided against telling Cas just why he'd been trying to bury those feelings; he doubted the angel would take well to hearing that Dean thought he'd taint him somehow.  “I'm sorry I hurt you,” he finished, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers over Cas' hand.

The angel said nothing but when Dean felt something soft brush his cheek he looked up and saw Cas' blue eyes staring at him and out of the corner of his eye he could see a wall of dark feathers, some of which were pressing against his skin.

They were soft as silk and unnaturally warm and Dean had to keep his hand from instinctively snagging up to feel them.  Instead he remained still, didn't look away from Castiel's blue eyes, and allowed the angel to set the pace.  He knew that his wings were sensitive and that it made the angel feel incredibly vulnerable to have them visible; he didn't want to break what seemed like a delicate situation, since only a few four hours ago Cas had been tucking his wings against his body and trying to make them look as small as possible.

“So what do you think?”  He asked at length.  “Wanna give me a chance?”

For the first time he could remember, Castiel smiled.  A full smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and showed all his straight white teeth and he felt himself mirror the action.  Couldn't help it.

Cas didn't say anything, instead he grabbed hold of the front of the hunter's shirt and yanked him forward so that he could press their lips together.  This kiss was much more satisfying than the last and Dean reveled in the feel of the angel's mouth moving, smooth and warm, against his.

When they broke apart again, he caught sight of Cas' pink tongue darting out to taste his lips and felt a spike of heat in his abdomen.

Dark feathers were no longer touching his face but they were close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from them.  He wondered if they were always so warm or if it was just because Cas he been spending so much time sitting by the fire.

“Can I?”  He asked, raising his hand so that his intention was clear.

Cas' eyes darted down to his hand but he nodded and Dean slowly reached out and ran his fingertips lightly down the soft feathers.  They shuddered under his touch and he looked back to the angel in time to see his blue eyes sliding closed.

“Alright?”  He asked uncertainly, not sure what the reaction meant.

But Cas was already nodding.  “Yes...yes, it's fine.”

That was a relief because the thought of not being able to touch Cas' wings ever again made him feel a little sick, if he was being honest with himself; he didn't know what he'd have done if his own hands had made the angel feel uncomfortable.

Feeling much better now that he knew his grimy human fingers wouldn't cause the angel any discomfort, Dean stroked over the feathers a little more firmly this time, taking his eyes off Cas' face in favour of watching how the feathers shined, glossy from their earlier grooming, catching the light of the fire.

“They're so soft,” he muttered absently, reaching up to hook his fingers over the solid ridge of bone.  The feathers were smaller and packed much more densely together and he marveled at how varied the plumage was.

“Dean, _stop_.”

He pulled his hand back immediately, eyes snapping up and roaming over Castiel's face for the source behind the strain in his voice.

“What?  What’s wrong?”  He asked, holding his hands up to reassure the other man that they were nowhere near his wings.

Cas still had his eyes shut firmly but his breathing was now laboured and small beads of sweat had appeared just under his hair line like he'd been struggling to keep from saying anything up until then and something cold twisted Dean's insides.

“God, Cas did I hurt you?  Why didn't you say anything?”

“You weren't hurting me,” the angel replied, his voice trembling with something Dean hoped to god was not pain.

“Then what...”  he trailed off when Cas finally opened his eyes and looked up at him.

The angel's pupils were blown, the black eating up all but a sliver of blue, and his cheeks were flushed red and very suddenly Dean realized that Cas wasn't in pain.  Quite the opposite, really, he seemed overwhelmed with pleasure.

“We...we have to stop now or...”  Cas looked away, the red in his cheeks deepening and Dean found himself biting back a grin.  

“Or what, Cas?”  He prodded.

“Or I won't be _able_ to stop.”

Silence followed the statement as Dean allowed another spike of heat to shoot through him, the angel's words causing all the blood in his brain to rush south.

“Do you _want_ to stop?”  He asked, his voice rough even to his own ears, and he hoped to whatever gods might be listening that the angel was only trying to hold back under some misguided attempted to shield him from...whatever he thought the hunter couldn't handle.

Castiel searched his face, and then finally said, “No.”  His voice so deep that the word sounded as if it had rumbled up all the way from his toes.

“Oh good,” Dean hooked his hand around the back of the angel's slim neck and tugged him forward to crush their lips together.  

Now that all the formalities were out of the way and they were both clear on what the other wanted it was as if a dam had burst between them and all the pent up sexual frustration and carefully hidden emotion just came rushing out all at once.  The release of energy was fierce and raw and Dean was delighted to note that Castiel didn't seem all that shy and was giving just as good as he got.

The angel was slightly smaller than him and when their bodies pressed together he seemed to align perfectly with Dean.  His long fingers snagged _perfectly_ in his short hair and the small ridges of muscle along his back curved _perfectly_ under Dean's calloused hands.

His hand slid up Cas' muscular thigh, travelling over his own flannel pajama pants, and firmly gripped the angel's hip to haul him into his lap.  He felt no small amount of satisfaction when Cas' legs parted to settle either side of him and he pushed his other hand from the dip in his spine upwards towards the base of his wings.  When his fingers brushed the tiny down feathers he was shocked to feel that they were slick with -

“Uh, Cas?”  He asked, pulling his hand around in front of his face and rubbing the clear, slippery liquid between his fingers.

The angel detached himself from the hunter's neck, but not before he licked a shudder inducing strip up his jawline, the slow drag of his tongue over Dean's skin nearly made him forget about the mysterious substance coating his hand.

When Cas caught sight of his glistening fingers, the corner of his mouth pulled up.  “When angels become...aroused, our oil glands have a tendency to,” he paused to lean down and nip gently at the hunter's chin, “overproduce.”

“Because wing grooming during sex is a thing?”  Dean asked, feeling confused as he spread his fingers.

“Our oil glands are not solely for grooming purposes,” Cas muttered absently, sounding like he'd very much like to be talking less.  “The glands are erogenous zones and – ”

That was all Dean needed to hear before he'd snaked his hand back around and was digging his fingers into the base of Cas' wing again.  Almost immediately he felt the small bump and pressed down on it firmly.

Castiel cried out instantly and it was a loud, overwhelmed noise that escaped his throat.  His wings flared dramatically behind him, knocking Dean's arms away and his hands clamped down on the hunter's shoulders in an iron tight grip.

“Cas?”  Dean said, feeling fear grip his lungs and squeeze when the angel went rigid in his lap.  “Cas, talk to me, man,” his eyes raked over the tense set of his wings, the feathers quivering, and then dropped to his face.

Slowly, his eyes opened and the angel pulled a breath past his teeth.  

“You must be gentle, Dean,” Cas said, his death grip on Dean's shoulders loosening.  He could feel the angel's thighs trembling on either side of his hips but he was honestly scared to touch him again.

“Jesus, I'm sorry, Cas,”  he said, feeling stupid.  He knew the angel had never done anything like this before, he should be taking it slow, letting him get used to the new sensations.  And despite his colourful sexual history, he could safely say he'd never been with someone who had extra appendages; assuming that touching them was the same as touching any other part of Castiel's body was presumptuous.

He had to keep reminding himself that Cas wasn't human and therefore might not respond to things the way Dean was used to.

Cas was already sucking on his neck again and rolling his hips in tiny circles that pushed most of Dean's worried thoughts right out his ears.  The gentle grind was enough to tease but nowhere near enough to give any real satisfaction and he moved his hands back down to the angel's waist, leaving a glistening trail of oil over Cas' skin.

He pushed down on the other man's hips, grinning when Castiel gasped above him when their clothed erections brushed together with a little more force.

“Feels good?”  Dean asked coyly, pleased when the angel gave a jerky nod, his full lips open and his breathing deep.

Cas’ dark wings had relaxed and every once in a while would flex upwards and then down lazily, a slow beat that stirred the air around them.  Dean’s eyes roamed over the dark feathers and he resisted the urge to reach out and sink his fingers down to the warm flesh underneath.

“You can touch me, Dean,” the angel said suddenly, making him look over to where blue eyes were dancing with humour.  “Just be gentle.”

Gentle.  Right, he could do that.  

He reached out and Cas stilled his wings, fanning one out to the side as much as he could in the small cabin, causing the flight feathers to flare out and separate.  

“They're so huge,”  Dean marveled aloud.  And they really were, spanning the length of the small room, the tip brushing the dirty wall.

When his fingers brushed across the feathers he took a quick look at the angel's face to make sure everything was alright and found that Cas was looking at where his hand was with a curious look on his face, almost as if he wasn't sure what was going to happen either.  He pushed his fingers into the feathers themselves but stilled when the plumage bristled and Castiel gasped.  

“Don't...don't stop.”  

The angel's voice was heavy and rough with arousal and his eyes were hooded with lust so Dean took it as a good sign to go ahead and push a little harder.  When his fingertips hit the meaty flesh of Castiel's wing, he watched the angel's face closely.

His lips curled back over his teeth in a brief snarl and his eyes screwed shut – for Cas, that was a lot of expression and the knowledge that Dean had been the one to make him lose control of himself, even for a second, made him wonder how much more he could get his angel to let loose.

He snagged his hand around to the base of Cas' wing and within seconds had found that little raised bump again.  This time, he barely let his finger swipe over the top of it and the result was much better.

Cas bucked in his lap, head thrown back, and his wings gave two furious beats before the angel regained control of his senses.  Loose papers that Sam had stacked on the end of one of the sofas were raining down around them and, in the silence, the only thing Dean could hear was Cas' heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire.

The angel was mindlessly grinding his hips in firm circles and Dean dropped his gaze down to see a sizable bulge pressing against the front of the angel's pants and he pressed the palm of his hand against it, firmly rubbing through Castiel's violent shudder and then pushing against his shoulder with his other hand until the angel got the idea and laid back on the floor, spreading his wings slightly.  Even so, his wings were thick and it made the angel's back arch off the floor in an incredibly enticing way, the dip in his spine not even touching the blankets under him.

Dean felt his mouth watering at the sight, at the way Castiel's legs fell open naturally because his wings were bending his spine and dipping his hips.

The angel's skin was golden in the fire light and Dean couldn't resist reaching out to touch him.  The palms of his hands were hot where they rested over Cas’ abdomen and he blazed a trail up over the angel's ribs and then lightly touched both nipples at the same time, watching closely as Cas’ wings tensed underneath him, pushing his upper body off the floor even more, making the arc of his lower back even sharper and pushing his hips down.

Castiel's body kept rolling on its own when Dean leaned down to swipe his tongue over one of the dusky peaks and a moan punched itself out of Cas' chest.

“Dean....Dean....”  

He could feel Cas' body undulating under him, hips rocking up as much was they could, pinned as they were by Dean where he was settled between his legs.  Castiel's hands were suddenly on him, one tangled in his hair, the other clenched around his arm, and one of his legs was inching its way up the side of Dean's body, muscular thigh flexing against his ribs as if trying to push him closer.

Dean licked his way over Cas' chest and nibbled at his collar bone until-

“Dean, please!”

“Please, what, angel?”  He mumbled against Cas' throat.

“More... _more_...”

He wondered if Cas even know what it was he needed more of or if he was just overwhelmed under the onslaught of pleasure he seemed to be feeling and Dean took a moment to pull back and make sure things weren't moving too quickly for the virginal angel.

But Cas didn't let him get very far, hooking a hand around the back of his neck and pushing himself up on his elbows to chase after his lips with his own, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed.  When Cas' lips pressed, hot and wet, against his it felt desperate and hungry and when Dean tried to pull back to make sure things didn't move too quickly, the angel's hand was like stone around his neck and he felt a spike of arousal at the reminder that Cas might be a virgin but would definitely be able to stop anything he wasn't ready for.

Even so, Dean was nothing if not a gentleman, so he gently stroked his way up the arm Cas had locked around him and slowed the pace of the kissing until Cas pulled away, panting despite the fact that he didn't need to breathe.

“Lay back,” he instructed, feeling a strange sense of power when Castiel immediately fell back, feathers puffing up briefly before settling.

Dean kept eye contact with the angel, his expression gentle and open as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Cas' pants and tugged them down, more than a little surprised and turned on by the fact that there was no underwear underneath.

“You always go commando, Cas?”  He asked with a smirk as his eyes roamed over the angel's exposed body.  

True to his personality, Cas seemed completely unashamed of his nakedness and didn't so much as twitch to cover himself when Dean's gaze lowered to his hard length, curved against his stomach, or when it dropped lower to where the angel's legs were spread, hooked over Dean's thighs, offering a nice view of his tight hole.

When he managed to drag his eyes back up to the angel's face, Castiel was frowning at him.

“What does that mean?”

He chuckled.  “It means you don't wear underwear.”

“I never understood its purpose, to be hon – _ah!_ ”  

Dean licked a stripe up the underside of Cas' cock, feeling his own pulse, heavy and swollen and still in the confines of his pants, when the angel's gasp turned into a low whine, head thrown back against the blankets beneath him.

He wrapped his hand around the base of the angel’s shaft and then took the head between his lips, clamping his free hand around the angel's hip when he bucked.

It was like a dam had burst and as Dean swallowed Cas down the angel let out a constant stream of moans and sighs and little cries and, even though he couldn't see them in his current position, Dean could hear the angel's feathers rustling and could feel the slight movement of his body when the powerful wings flexed beneath him.

“Dean – nngh – Dean, _please!_ ”

When Castiel's grip on his hair became painful, he gently eased off and sat back, grinning when Cas let out a sound somewhere between a whine and a snarl and reluctantly released his grip on the hunter's hair.

It was easy to see that the angel was coming apart at the seams; a thin sheen of sweat had coated his skin and his chest was heaving, wings twitching, hips rolling rhythmically; desperately pushing his cock up into nothing but empty air that dragged a moan of frustration from his full lips while his darkened eyes blinked up at the ceiling in a daze.  

“Hey...” Dean muttered, leaning over him and pressing his palm to the side of his angel's face.  “Hey, you still with me?”  

“Why...”  He watched Cas tongue dart out to wet his lips.  “Why are you still wearing so many clothes?”

The hunter pressed his face into the crook of Cas' neck, taking a deep breath that filled his head with the angel's clean, earthy scent, before rearing up and pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it over his shoulder.  Before it had even landed, Castiel's long fingers, though trembling with need, were clawing at the drawstring of his pajama pants and after a few seconds, one strong tug and the string snapped and the angel tossed it away.

Moments later and Dean was pressing down between Cas' legs again and at the last second he ground down, delivering a burst of wonderful friction that had both men throwing their heads back and biting their lips.  Cas' hands scrabbled up his arms and one hooked around the back of his neck to pull him down into a fierce kiss that left his lips feeling numb after only a few seconds.

The angel wasn't holding back, to Dean's delight, and the feel of Cas' tongue pushing firmly, insistently into his mouth ignited a trail of fire that burned a path all the way down to his toes.

Heat coiled low in his abdomen, tight like a spring ready to jump, and he snagged an arm around Cas' waist where it was arched off the blankets and immediately felt the warm slick coating the angel's back.

Dean had forgotten about the oil glands at the base of the angel's wings but now a wonderful idea was taking shape in his mind and he looked up at Cas writhing underneath him.  The idea was one thing, but he had to make sure Cas was cool with it.  He didn't think it would be a problem but he didn't want to break some weird angel custom that would have Cas slapping him across the face or something, so he decided to play it safe and ask.

His pause for thought had taken long enough for Castiel to open his eyes to see what the hold-up was and, when he saw the pensive look on the hunter's face, his own became somewhat guarded.

“The look on your face worries me.”  

The confession caused a mingled flare of apprehension and amusement and if it was one thing Dean loved about his angel it was that he was so honest.  There was no shame and no questions were off limits and it was that, more than anything, that gave Dean the courage to do what he did next.

“Don't worry, I just kind of got an idea, but,” he shifted his arm, feeling it slide against the angel's slicked skin, “I wanna make sure it's ok with you before I do anything.”

The frown creasing the angel's brow eased and was replaced with something softer, his blue eyed gaze fond.  “I doubt there is anything you could suggest to me at this point that I would decline to do.”

With those encouraging words, Dean hooked his fingers and drug his nails through the oil coating the angel's back, earning him a shudder, and brought his hand up between them, the shine on his fingers unmistakable.

When two patches of red appeared on Cas' cheeks, he was admittedly a little surprised...and disappointed.  He was worried that using Cas' wing oil for something other than grooming might not be received well.  He was prepared to tell Cas to stay put for a moment so he could go get some lube from the bedroom he was using, but then the angel made him freeze when he asked -

“Does it bother you?”  His tone was even, controlled in a way that told Dean he was purposely keeping the tremor from his voice even though he was still breathing heavy from their activities and his pupils were still blown wide with arousal.

“Bother me?”  Echoed Dean, not sure he understood.  Then Cas' eyes darted down to his hand and he understood. It wasn't that the angel was worried about how Dean wanted to use the oil but that he thought Dean might be turned off by another reminder of just how far from human Castiel was.

He decided to push his luck a little, because just coming out and asking seemed like it might kill the mood.  So, keeping a close eye on Castiel's expression, he leaned forward and pushed his hand under Cas' back and rubbed his fingers gently but firmly against the now heavily swollen oil gland.

When Cas simultaneously cried out and arched his back sharply at the touch, Dean pressed a steadying hand to his chest and tried not to gasp when a gush of warm oil spilled over his fingers.

“Ah- _ah!_ ”  Castiel was gasping, every muscle in his body taut, hands scrabbling at Dean's arms, legs shaking where they rested against Dean and wings spreading along the floor in jerky movements.

“Dean – nngh – ahh!”

He pulled his hand away from the gland quickly, felt Cas' cock twitch against his abdomen and in that moment he was entirely convinced that he could make the angel come just from touching those glands and nothing else.  But that was something to try another time.  Right now, Dean needed to make sure the angel was aware of what he was doing.  He wanted to be absolutely sure that he wasn't springing anything on the angel that he wasn't ready for or that was considered not at all cool in angel culture, so he leaned forward and gently stroked a finger down the side of Castiel's cheek with his clean hand until his blue eyes opened and his breathing calmed.

“Hey, Cas, look at me, ok?”  He said, satisfied when the angel nodded absently but followed the hunter's movement as he backed off.

He made sure Cas was still watching his slick coated hand as he lowered it, watched even closer when he wrapped his hand around the angel's cock.  

He seemed fine with it, using his own oil as lube, if the moaning and head tossing was any indication, and within seconds the angel's hips were pushing up into Dean's slick fist in confident thrusts.

For a moment, Dean became mesmerized by just how graceful Castiel was.  Even in the disorientation and fog of arousal his movements were fluid; the roll of his hips rhythmic like the waves on an ocean; his breath coming in small huffs from his full lips; wings flaring and trembling in some kind of dance that the hunter was sure would mean something to another angel's eyes, but to him was just another beautiful indication that Cas was lost to the pleasure Dean was giving him.

While he continued to stroke Cas to distraction with one hand, Dean reached under the angel’s back with the other and swiped his fingers over the gland again just as he clamped down on the base of his cock.

As expected, the angel gave a violent heave under his ministrations and likely would have come right there and then if it weren't for the hunter's makeshift cock ring preventing him from doing so.

“Dean!   _Dean!  Please!_ ”  The angel's voice was desperate, his eyes wild with frustration when his orgasm was denied.

Dean watched him closely, a spike of fire shooting through him and he realized he was getting off on the feeling of power; of having this incredible, powerful being at his mercy.  Of giving him things he had never had before.  Cas was writhing under his hands, grabbing at him with his own and squeezing his waist with his toned thighs but otherwise not moving to take control of any kind and he wondered if maybe that was the soldier in him; the programmed desire to follow orders.

He decided to address that later and brought his other hand to Cas' cock, swiping his thumb over the head just to hear the angel gasp, and then sliding lower, lower, until the pad of his thumb was pressing against the angel's entrance.

The tight ring of muscle spasmed under the sudden touch and Cas gasped in surprise.

“This ok?”  Dean asked, wanting to clarify.  He knew how one could get lost in the haze of sensations during sex, especially when it was your first time, and he did not want any doubt of the angel's consent.

Which is why when he did not get an immediate result, he pulled his hand away and said, “Cas?”

Bleary blue eyes peered at him through mere slits and, if he wasn't mistaken, a not often seen look of irritation settled across the angel's pretty face.  

“You good?” He repeated.

“ _Yes_ , Dean!”  Replied the angel, his voice was rough with agitation and it made his name slip out like a curse word.  “Touch me!   _Please_.”

He pressed a light kiss to the inside of Cas' knee and bent to heed the angel's pleas.  

He circled the ring of muscle with his thumb as a warning before applying gentle pressure and, with Castiel's own oil easing his glide, the digit slid into the tight heat easily.

And Cas was already rolling his hips again, partially to dislodge the tight hold Dean had on the base of his cock and partially to push against the digit inside him.

“More,” he panted.  “Dean, _more_.  Please, please...”

“Shhh...” Dean hushed, reveling in the feeling of the angel's tight heat clamping down on him like he was desperate to be stretched open by his cock.  

He pulled his thumb out in a slow drag and them pushed back in, swallowing the mirror of Cas' moan when the angel's hole clenched around the digit and pulled him in.

“ _Dean_.”  

He heeded the angel, replacing his thumb with two fingers, hissing at how much tighter it was.  He watched the muscle clench around his fingers, the rim stretched beautifully.

Suddenly, Cas' hand had joined his, his slender fingers slicked with his own oil and fluttering over where his body was being stretched to accommodate the hunter's fingers.  When Dean's eyes darted up, the angel was already staring at him.

“I won't break, Dean.”  With his other hand, Cas reached out and ran his hand over Dean's chest appreciatively and then snaked it around the back of his neck and up into his hair, where he gripped tight and hauled the hunter's face down to within only a few inches of his own and ground out, “Coat your cock in my oil and fuck me.”

The very words nearly made Dean come and he had to bow his head, crushing his lips to his angel's partially to distract himself and partially to make sure Cas didn't surprise him with dirty talk that hot again or this whole thing would be over before it even started.

“You'll be the death of me, Cas,” he muttered against the angel's open mouth.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of the other man's full lips and then to his jaw and then his neck, collar bone and chest, all the while pumping his fingers in a out of the angel's hole.  When he pushed three fingers in, he felt, for the first time, the angel tense in a manner that suggested something unpleasant, and he stilled his hand, looking up at his lover's face.

Almost as soon as the grimace of pain had formed on his brow, it was smoothed over.

“You ok?”  Dean clarified.

Cas looked down to meet his gaze and then rolled his eyes, actually rolled his eyes, before nodding.

“I enjoy having you on top of me Dean but if you don't get on with it I may just have to overpower you and _take_ what I want.”

It was a wonderfully harsh reminder that Castiel, angel of the lord was _allowing_ the hunter to pin him to his own nest of blankets and fuck him.  The reminder was both humbling and exhilarating.

Dean pulled his hand free and swayed his hips, pushing the angel's legs open wider so that he could sink down, grasp his cock and, after a few strokes to spread the oil from his fingers, guide it to his lover's entrance, pushing gently but firmly against the ring of muscle.  

The angel gasped, a desperate sound that clawed its way out of his throat when the head of Dean’s cock breached the loosened muscles and the sound of it knocked something loose in the pit of Dean's stomach and he drove forward in one smooth, hard, thrust; any concern that he had over it being too much for the angel was drowned in the sound of his cries of pleasure and the lock of ankles behind his back, pressing against his ass and urging him deeper.

After that his hips seemed to set their own rhythm, pumping in and out of the angel's willing body, the drag of heat against his swollen cock almost too much to bear even in the first few strokes.

Through the haze of his own pleasure, Dean managed to pull his face from where it was buried in the angel's neck and, when he looked up, his hips shuddered to a halt, cock buried to the hilt as he stared.

Cas' head was thrown back, eyes wide and mouth gaping and, where there should have been blue irises and a pink tongue was bright white light.  He was losing control.  Dean was overloading him with such pleasure that the angel within the body under him was breaking free.  His eyes darted to the lush wings fanned out across the floor to either side; there was light under each feather, as if even the manifestation of Castiel's grace could not contain itself.

His hips stuttered forward, pushing deeper into Cas' body, mind hazy – intoxicated – with the power he held over this beautiful creature.  The smell of earth and burning fire and clean sea air filled his senses -

“Please...more... _more_...”

Dean buried his face into Cas' neck again, sure that just looking at the anguished look of pleasure on his face would push him over the edge and instead hooked one arm around the angel's waist, biting down on his nape as the easy slide of slick made him thrust harder; his other arm grappled around the angel's shoulders, tugging him closer, pressing their chests flush.

He bit at the side of Cas’ neck, pulse jumping under his teeth.

His thrusts became erratic, the heat was coiling in his belly and Cas fingers were digging into his skin and suddenly he was the one on his back.  Cas had flipped them and before the hunter's brain had even registered the switch the angel was impaling himself on his cock with shallow rolls of his hips.

Cas seemed to tower over him; his wings were flared in dark arches to either side of his body, slivers of white light under each feather; face turned upward, mouth open and eyes wide and bursting with the blinding power of his true self.

“ _Dean_...”

The hunter's rhythm faltered when his name boomed from Cas like a clap of thunder, but a sudden spastic clench of the angel's hot, silky walls around his cock had his eyes rolling back in his head and his brain turning to mush and through the mind numbing build of pressure in his abdomen, he realized the clench around him for what it was.

Cas was close.  He gripped the angel's cock in one hand and his hip in the other and thrust upward at a slightly different angle, knowing he hit the right spot when a resonating cry ripped itself from the angel's throat and the glass in the windows rattled violently.

His own orgasm was coiling tighter and tighter, his thrusts up and Cas' pushes down were starting to break their rhythm and he knew Cas was just at the edge.

He let go of the angel's slim hip with one hand and snaked it up to a flared wing just as it flexed in a powerful downbeat, forcing his fingers deep into the feathers.  He hooked his fingers quickly, dragging the tips down the inside of the wing and then Cas was coming with a wail.

He drove up one more time, buried to the hilt when the angel clamped down around him, and could feel himself spill deep inside, pushed up harder, went deeper and then a sudden flare of blinding white light had him reflexively scrunching his eyes shut.

He heard Cas cry out again, the sound of it seeming to reverberate inside his skull like a gong, and glass was shattering somewhere off to his right and then there was the unmistakable pop of a light-bulb bursting and then it was quiet.

When he opened his eyes, Cas' were closed, mouth open as he panted for air, wings lax and hanging at his sides, twitching every so often with aftershock.

It was then that Dean realized the faint pain he felt in his chest was Cas' hands, nails digging in to his skin where he'd clamped down to leverage himself and the hunter pried them loose with a slight wince.

“You ok?”  He asked, the raspy sound of his own voice a clear indicator that he'd made his fair share of noise.

The angel's eyes finally opened, their normal stormy blue once again, and the corner of his full lips twisted up in a half smile.  

“I'm sorry...I lost control.”

Feeling more than a little amused that Cas thought that that was anything less than the best sex the hunter had ever had, Dean slid an arm around the angel's waist when he wavered and rolled them onto their sides, his softening cock still buried deep.

“That's what I was trying to make you do, angel,” he nosed affectionately into Cas' neck and rubbed a hand over the leg hooked on his hip until Cas rumbled a sleepy chuckle.

With a gentle hand on Cas' thigh, Dean pushed his knee outward and pulled out of the angel's body.  He ignored Cas' grumbles as he stood to get a wash cloth from the bathroom to clean them up and was back in seconds, coaxing the angel to roll onto his back so that he could wipe the cum off his skin.

As he dragged the damp cloth down Cas' chest, Dean felt himself admiring, again, the way the angel's wings made his back arch off the blankets.  Tanned skin stretched lightly over his rib cage, hips canted downward to counterbalance; dark feathers still now, and glossy in the light of the dying fire.

“You're beautiful, you know that?”  He said, tossing the cloth to his right somewhere.

He wasn't usually one to say such things, but if it meant it would make Cas blush like that, then he could get used to it.

After throwing another log on the fire, and flicking the light switch a few times to make sure that, yes, they were still without power, Dean was snugly wrapped in both blankets and feathers back in front of the fire place.  They'd had to move a bit further back than Cas had wanted, but after a brief lesson on what heat stroke did to a person, he'd consented.

And true to his brother's track record, it was just when the sound of rain through the blown out window and the soft warmth of Castiel's wing draped over him that Sam chose that moment to barge through the door with an armload of groceries.

“Oh my G-”

To his credit, Sam had managed to stop himself from blaspheming in front of an angel, but if Cas' still blissed out, sleepy, expression and lazy wing flick was any indication, he probably wouldn't have cared anyway.

The few bags of food had slipped from Sam's slack fingers when he spotted the two of them in Cas' mound of blankets by the fire, staring with an equally slack jaw.  It might have even been funny, if Dean hadn't been so close to falling asleep.

“Take a picture, Sammy, it lasts longer,” he grumbled snidely, feeling Cas press a soothing kiss to the back of his neck.

After several long seconds of his idiot brother opening and closing his mouth a few times, Sam finally seemed to regain control of his vocal chords and all but shrieked.  

“You two were supposed to _talk_ things out, not _fuck_ things out!”

Dean wondered if the little jerky movements from Cas against his back might just be laughter.

“We did talk it out,” he told his brother, “Then we fucked it out just to be sure.  You know I like to be thorough.”

The wounded buffalo noise that his brother made was like a soothing balm to his irritation; that is until Sam started bitching about the broken window and shattered lamp.  Finally he left them alone, bags of food still sitting on the kitchen floor as he stomped off to whatever room he was using, muttering about angel/human sex ground rules.

* * *

OK...would love to know what you think of this chapter.  Constructive criticism is welcome...I am always looking for ways to improve my writing :)


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